Nightmares Travel Alone
by The Lord Of The Words
Summary: What do you get when you combine an evil Bhaalspawn, and equally evil dwarf in a tavern, with lots of booze, and a whole lot of enemies coming in the front door ready to hurt them? I think you can guess...
1. His Name and Deeds

Nightmares Travel Alone

**Chapter 1:** His Name and Deeds

Everyone knew his name. From his deeds of great valor, saving the city of Baldur's Gate, from a genocidal madman, wishing for the deaths of hundreds, and perhaps thousands. Yes, he was the one who stopped the mastermind, the one who was scheming to ascend to the ranks of Grand Duke, and rule the great city, challenging Amn to war. The one called Sarevok. They knew the name of the villain, but they also knew the name of the hero.

The one who stopped this Sarevok, and saved their city. But in other ways they knew, frightening though it was, they may have very easily been safer with Sarevok ruling their city. For everyone knew of the other things about this "hero". Tales attached to his name. The horrific and sinister kind. Such as, wandering across the Sword Coast, an unholy plague that brutally slew any hapless travelers that crossed paths with him. It mattered not their name, age, or race. They still fell from his sword, their deaths without meaning.

The same criminal, hunted by the Flaming Fist, as a mass murderer, who had slain a good number of their own ranks, and killed innocent peasants in the Friendly Arms, Beregost, and Baldur's Gate itself, for seemingly no reason at all. And even more, he had the audacity and reckless sense of mindless violence to attack the Fist's headquarters itself. Oh yes, they knew his name.

The Walking Nightmare. He cared not for anyone; he felt nothing but the love of death, a being of cursed blood, his reign of terror holding sway over the minds and hearts of every citizen. They knew his name. Argon he was. But naturally, a title was eventually added as well, one that personified his darkness. It is unsure as to who came up with this. The Fist as his alias? The terrified people? Or perhaps even the monster himself? Whoever it may have been, he has stained a mark of crimson in history, his name chilling blood. His name. Argon the Terrible.

But his mark on the world of Fearun was only getting underway. This is where we start. Argon was a man, and a massive one at that. He was strong, a warrior of great ability. In his traveling about, foiling the plots of his half brother, he had come across many items of great power. The Helm and Cloak of Baldarian, a horrible sword of searing flame, Boots of Speed, making him nigh uncatchable. A ring of invisibility, to strike from nowhere, and a set of ancient armor, properly restored to its former glory. Midnight black. Armed and armored, a foe with little equal. But even without these little trinkets, mere toys, he was still formidable.

His height was grand, easily nine spans high, weighing well over two hundred stones, due to his massive and bulging frame. Long and grueling weeks and months of training had made his body as solid as sheer rock, toughening himself, becoming stronger, faster, and more cunning. In his travels, he faced many enemies. He had been stung by poisoned arrows of hobgoblin elite, scorched by raging infernos and hailstorms of lightning from vengeful mages. Slashed open by countless blades, beaten, bruised, and battered. And still he persevered.

He shut out the pain. Or in actuality, he fed off of it. It made him mightier. His skin had hardened, making blades and arrows bounce harmlessly away. Spells didn't peel and blister his skin, nor leave his mind momentarily shattered. He feared no enemy; not the undead, not the great and terrible power of mages, piddling fighters for hire, the crafty elves, the cantankerous dwarves, not even his own flesh and blood.

Argon had been a pretty docile child growing up, under Gorion, but when his death came at the hands of Sarevok, Argon escaped the fray, and felt helpless. Imoen and others such as Khalid and Jaheria aided him, as he went along; trying to discover the source of the iron plague, and at the same time, uncover the mystery of his stepfather's death. But something happened alone the way. Somewhere, he became tainted. His heart was full of cold and hateful loathing, feelings and emotions quite unlike the submissive boy back at Candlekeep.

Perhaps after slaying a particular enemy, being exposed to senseless carnage, whatever it may have been, something made his mind alter. Argon became wild, violent, and unpredictable. In his journey, he began to grow sensationally stronger than his counterparts, and it soon became aware that they couldn't have any hopes of stopping him. So, they escaped. They cared for the young man, but he was unstable, and immensely more powerful then they. And in leaving, they saved their own lives.

Yes, everything attached to Argon's name, including his title, Argon the Terrible, was true. He must have snapped, and another presence took hold. He was, after all, a Bhaalspawn, a half-god child born from the dead god Bhaal, the Lord of Murder. It is quite possible that the evil taint had seized control. But maybe it didn't. From the point he entered the Cloakwood mines, he did so alone. When he emerged, he was utterly soaked in blood, right down to the last strands of his trimmed silver hair.

His previous eyes of light and endearing indigo had altered as well, strange a thing though it was. Now they burned with a horrendous black light, sparkling with a blazing fire at their epicenter. The slaves of the Cloakwood never made it out. Every living thing inside mines was destroyed, ripped to shreds by this savage and fierce monster. There had been an unmistakable sense of joy, as he slit throats of innocent overworked slaves, seeing their terror, as they sagged to the floor, watching the very thing that sustained their lives spilling onto the ground.

No one was spared, wherever he went. He seemed to live only to fight and kill. But here is what was strange, and why it doesn't seem likely that he had not wholly succumbed to the tainted blood within. He was the _same_ person, the same mind. True, he had turned into a thing of purest evil, but still the same being. His mind was no different. His memories, his goals, his feelings; all there. But others now, others that had swayed him. Filling his heart with shadows, feeling the need to fill the world with much more pain and suffering than there already was.

In truth, he had no problem with what Sarevok was orchestrating, the war between Baldur's Gate and Amn. If things had gone differently, he would have no doubt joined him in battle, and reveled in the carnage. But no, Sarevok wished himself to be the last Child of Bhaal, to ascend as the new Lord of Murder. In so doing, he would need to eradicate all others, each and every Bhaalspawn, including Argon.

And while Sarevok had been a mighty warrior himself, his ambition and drive seemed different. He wasn't as bloodthirsty or chaotic as Argon. No, he was much more precise, using technicalities to gain power, employing mercenaries and hired goons to do the majority of his dirty work. Argon, on the other hand, was cunning, very much so indeed, but in this instance, he didn't need it.

What's more, he managed to thwart his half brothers plans single-handedly, taking down all of his henchmen, disrupting all the carefully laid plans, evading slippery traps, murdering Sarevok's stepfather, and obstructing his path at every turn. At the final showdown, it had been Argon only, breaking the doors down to an ancient church of Bhaal beneath Baldur's Gate, where Sarevok waited, with his most loyal of men. The new leader of the Flaming Fist, Angelo, the half-ogre Tazok, and a crafty wizard Semaj.

There had been words between them; Sarevok was naturally fuming at having his schemes shattered, his whole plot of a horrendous war evaporating into oblivion at the meddlesomeness of his half brother. The armored man bellowed at Argon, as he approached, cursing him and his ability to thwart all these plans. Argon had been grinning, a near insane one, twirling his sword at his side, as casually as a walking stick.

"Aw, you're breaking my heart," he cooed, in his own sinister voice. It wasn't as deep and resonating as Sarevok, but dark and foreboding nonetheless. "Your little design has come unraveled, all because you wanted me dead. Well, so sorry I didn't comply with your wishes. And the funny thing is brother, if you had asked me to join, instead of merely labeling me as an enemy, I would have done so. And together, we would have ignited your war of sacrifice, and we'd both have been very happy with the bloodshed. But no, you had a rancor to settle with me, and in so doing, you have provoked the wrath of someone who is greater than you. I would have just killed you initially, but I felt that disrupting your plans would have stung you all the more deeply. Seems I was right."

Thus, they fought, four on one, two Children of Bhaal, and henchmen. The peons fell first. Angelo opened fire with his bow, but even his arrows of fire could barely penetrate Argon's armor, let alone inflict damage on his skin. He charged, blazing sword leveled, and with three quick and horribly precise slashes, Angelo basically came undone. His head fell to the floor, his hands holding the bow severed, and his legs separated at the knee. The half elf captain fell to the floor in pieces.

Tazok was next, Argon recalling how the half ogre had taunted him in the bandit encampment. As the huge creature came lumbering in, there was but a single thrust, with the strength of a typhoon behind it. The sword tore a hole straight through Tazok's guts, erupting from his back, the alight blade cauterizing the wound. As he pulled his sword free, Argon brought the sword down a second time, opening a deep and sickening cut along the half ogre's back, and left him to bleed to death.

The wizard Semaj, had time for not but a spell or two, a cloud of poisonous vapors, and a bolt of crackling lightning. There was no real noticeable effect with either, as Argon nonchalantly walked through the cloud as if it had been a light fog, and even more astounding, with not but a lash of his hand, disrupted the course of the lightning bolt, knocking it aside, and sending it crashing into a wall, the thunder and explosion rocking the temple.

Then, the wizards was dead, having been mumbling more incantations, invoking yet another magical attack, but suddenly he found himself trying to talk around sharpened steel, and searing flame, as Argon fed his sword into Semaj's mouth. As the gaunt and skinny mage fell to the ground, Argon faced his brother. Sarevok, wearing his blackened armor, with the countless spines and razors, the suit of armor being a formidable weapon in itself. He wielded a darkened blade, grasping it with both massive hands. There was silence as their eyes spoke for them, the unearthly yellow, conflicting with the menacing black.

Then…they clashed. Both were masterful warriors, having honed their skills carefully, training their bodies and minds for this sort of heated combat. The number of blows and attacks traded, parries and blocks made, only the two of them could really say. But it must have undoubtedly been a long time indeed before one of them fell. And that one, was Sarevok. Perhaps he had grown tired at the physically demanding task of defeating as worthy an opponent as he had ever faced. Or maybe, with his plans laid to ruin, his lover dead, and a wanted fugitive, he didn't wish to continue living. The idea that he knew it was not in his destiny to live was also not out of the realm of possibility.

Whatever the case, Argon found a spot within Sarevok's defense, and a smallish opening in his armor, and struck, plunging his raging sword in. Sarevok fell to one knee, sustaining an injury to his torso. That one wound ended it. He was down, and Argon was in a state of heightened bloodlust, that he kicked Sarevok's sword from his grasp, and merely kept swinging his own weapon, with furious motion. He was not wholly satisfied until he had butchered his half brother into chunks of flesh, pieces of black armor rent asunder, and some other unidentifiable material, having been fried beyond any sort of recognition by the flaming sword.

And as this happened, Argon the Terrible also became known as Argon, the Hero of Baldur's Gate, Slayer of Sarevok. Little did the people know that Sarevok had been lesser of an evil than their savior.

Once the city had been "saved", Argon the Terrible left to resume his wanderings. Still he maimed and eradicated any he encountered, but his whole manner was somewhat different now. He didn't just inflict horrible pain to their bodies, but wracked their minds with torment, guilt, and shame. All the suffering, he enjoyed every moment of it, relishing it, savoring it like a delectable morsel of food. However, he was not invincible, and at one point or another, someone stronger would come along. As it was, they came fast and hard. While he was down, phasing in and out of his periods of semi-sleep, numerous figures in black came swooping in all around, as silently as shadows.

He rose at once, smelling their approach, but some sort of blistering pain swept through his head, making him stagger. The iron grip that he normally maintained on the hilt of his sword was beginning to deteriorate into nothing more than wobbly fingers. He stood longer than a normal man would have, but at last, he collapsed upon the ground, his head was screaming, filled with dark fire, a pain that accompanies a defilement of the mind. He was strangely aware of being bound, and stripped of his equipment, but beyond that…nothing. At least, until his senses began to restore themselves. This is where Argon the Terrible's deepest stain on history truly begins.


	2. Imprisoning Death

**Chapter 2:** Imprisoning Death

"Ah, the Child of Bhaal has awoken. It is time for more…experiments." The voice that echoed away was one full of darkness, a haughty and yet emotionless tone, and it was what rouse Argon from his semi-conscious state. Awoken was hardly the word though. He was crammed into an iron maiden, far too small for his enormous self. This cell was hanging by stout chains, in the almost cliché dungeon. This was not the first time he had woken up. He could recall how he had been so quickly subdued by whoever it was who captured him.

The feeling of whatever spell or force that had nearly ripped his mind in twain was lingering, even now, a sinister reminder of his mortality and vulnerability. And whoever was in charge of this place had been quite busy. Within his mind, there were flashes of images, a shadow smiling down at him, hands glowing with energy. He seemed to remember being dunked in a colossal vat of blood; he had been tortured by magical means, his physical superior and inhuman toughness keeping him alive.

These and among other visions of past sadism. To any normal person, these pictures that were presently intruding into his conciseness, would have made them ill and shaken them down to their very core, or perhaps more likely, driven them mad. To Argon, he was more or less nonchalant about them. Blood, gore, death, and all the like were things he did on a daily basis, and enjoyed them quite often. Whoever was doing this was wasting their time in trying to scare him. And speaking of whom, the words spoken brought Argon's self back, perhaps fully since he had first been subdued. It was then he got his bearings enough to look the master of this funhouse in the eyes.

Quite the chilling person. His build was muscular, and tall, but lacking next to the girth of Argon. All he wore was a pair of brown pants, his chest exposed, with only a leather sash draped across him. The most fascinating feature of this man was his face. It didn't look all that real. His skin was pasty and white, rather boney, stretched across the skull. The back of his head was metal, like a helmet, but this looked to be part of his actual head.

He had a pair of icy cobalt eyes, lifeless, but curious. And it was with these that he was staring back, into the iron maiden, at Argon. The two locked eyes, Argon shifting around, getting ready to lunge through the bars of this pathetic prison, and tear this man to shreds, the moment he felt he could reach him. Until then, he wanted to keep him talking.

"So, you must be the coordinator to this shithole. To what do I owe this honor? And more importantly, I see you know _what_ I am." The man outside flashed a frightening pleasant smile in return. "Of course, though it isn't too hard to know of a Bhaalspawn like you. After all…you're famous, in one way or another. A bit anticlimactic though…you were rather easy to find, and even easier to catch. I would have thought you could have resisted a bit more."

"Sorry to disappoint, but truthfully, living up to _your_ expectations isn't really high on my to-do list. Now…killing you…that's something else."

"Ah yes, there is that bloodthirsty god essence again. I must admit, from all the other Bhaalspawn I've tested, you were one of the only ones to have actually embraced the incredible strength you have inside. Most others thought of it as a curse, a plague, an unholy burden they wished they never had. That's why I disposed of them. I had heard of your exploits, and figured you would be a higher quality test subject. I figured correctly, as you passed all of my expectations. You actually required very little prepping."

"By prepping, I suppose you mean those…experiments and tortures from before?" The man nodded, still smiling, watching Argon's shifting moments with a casual eye.

"Well, I hope you've enjoyed your little playtime, but you obviously should know that capturing a more powerful specimen means it's all the more dangerous…_WHEN IT ESCAPES_!" With a roar, Argon hurled himself against the front of his hanging cell, knocking it forward, his two mighty arms reaching out through the bars, ready to grab hold of his captor. He was already in the process of thinking of the nastiest method he could to kill the smug bastard in front of him, but in the slowest possible way. Unfortunately, things did not pan out quite so nicely.

For one thing, the man saw this whole little scheme long before it was launched. Knowing of the temper and rage of this particular Bhaalspawn, he was expecting it, but wasn't really worried. As the straining hands came closer, his smile never faltering, he merely stepped back, and leaned just out of their range, the grasping fingers missing him by only a slim fraction. This frustrated Argon. Not just because the cage, which he had thrown his entire weight against, had hardly moved at all, not swinging wildly about, but even more so that his supposed victim was still alive, and unhurt. That made him angry.

The man hardly seemed to have noticed the attempt on his life, but he still launched an attack of his own, perhaps in retaliation, perhaps in punishment, or more likely, just for the hell of it. Flexing his fingers, the bones beneath the skin snapping, he lifted his hands, and began to wiggle his fingers, as if he was in the process of tickling some invisible child. A moment later, there was a flash, and a crash, as an arc of lightning leapt from his fingertips, and slammed into Argon. At once, he was hit with the sensation of burning flesh, and the smell of blistering skin as well as incinerating hair.

There was pain as well, but dulled and muted, not quite as bad as it could have been. When the lightning bolt subsided, Argon glanced down at himself. The left side of his chest, and a portion of his neck and shoulder were horribly mangled, the skin was black, with flashes of white bone from beneath. Astounding. Not only had the attack hurt him enough to rip through his skin, but it wasn't beginning to heal, with regeneration. Even if it bother Argon, he didn't show it. His face was nonchalant, but his eyes said something different. They were smoldering, a hellfire was raging inside. Now, he was _really_ pissed off.

"Probably wondering why your remarkable powers haven't come into play?" The man questioned, that same smug arrogant smile present. Argon didn't answer, but only growled in response.

"Simple really. Normally, a cage like this would never be able to hold a Bhaalspawn like you for very long. Your inhuman strength is more than a match to metal. So, in the midst of these experiments, I came across a spell that would solve this problem. It was a ward of weakness, that I cast about the cage. Basically, anything within the cage is stripped of any quality that is considered…extraordinary. Magical weapons and armor for instance, would be useless. Or perhaps…ungodly strength, and enhanced regeneration and resilience's. And just as a precaution, the bars of your cell are made with enchanted metal. Only an enchanted weapon will open them. Or even easier…the key. Sadly, you seem be to lack both. When inside the cage, you god-child, are nothing more than a regular mortal. And I suggest you get use to that notion. It won't be long before…"

His arrogant words were cut off by a muffled explosion, coming from over their heads. The man glanced up and around, and before long, a stone golem came shambling into the dungeon. _"More intruders have entered the complex master."_

"They act sooner than we anticipated. No matter they will only prove a slight delay." He then glanced at Argon. "We will continue this later. Right now, I have some knats to deal with. But I'll be back." Argon gave him a glowering grin, and stood, his head banging against the roof of the cage. "And when you do, I'll be free, and I'll splatter those pretentious brains of yours all across the wall, and use your head as a bucket."

"Your bravado is commendable, but such boasting is pointless, as there is no way for you to get free." With those friendly parting words, the obvious mage began casting another spell, and in a whoosh and swoosh of magical energy, he vanished. Now free to act, Argon at once began beating at the door to his cell, pounding his huge fists against the locks, trying to smash them. They didn't so much as budge.

Then, he tried throwing himself at the bars again, attempting to get his cell to swing. No such luck. His own natural strength, at being his great size, while amazing, was hardly doing anything at all. Even wrenching the bars apart was useless. But Argon wasn't about to become a permanent residence of that cell, and his eyes began to run. It was then that he caught sight of the stone golem from before, the one that had to inform its master about an invasion. And just like that, he had an idea.

"Hey, rock man! Come over here for a second. I want to show you something." But the stone sentinel didn't move.

"_I respond only to my masters commands."_ A standard golem is a magically constructed statue from certain materials, used for numerous tasks. For wizards, their primary use is either mere grunt work, or guards. They never need to eat, never slept, and never got scared. An inhuman warrior. But when it came to brains, they were lacking, having the most primitive of intelligence, if even that.

"Yeah well, did your master ever command you to feed the prisoner?" The golem's head grated together, making a slight nod. _"_

_Feeding the captive is one of my duties."_

"Good. If that's the case…I'm hungry, so go get me some food!" The golem didn't move. _"I respond only to my masters commands."_ Despite that, Argon was crafty, seeing if he could get around that.

"Is it your job to make sure the prisoner stays alive?" Again, the giant stone creation nodded.

"_Ensuring the captive's life is one of my duties." _

"Well, then you'd better go get me some food. Because I'm starving over here. And if I starve to death, then you're not following orders. So, in order to maintain my wellbeing, you have to feed me, else you violate one of your masters commands. Right?" There was no response, not a nod, nor an answer. At least until the golem turned and lumbered out the room. Argon couldn't be sure if his idea had worked, but there wasn't much he could do in the meantime but wait. As it turned out, his idea had worked. Overriding its refusal to accept any outside orders, the golem was returning with a metal dish, in it was who knows what.

It approached, and set it down right outside the cage. Argon watched and right then, made his move. He lunged against the bars again, his arms going through, and he seized the oversized stone arm in both his hands, tearing open his wound. He remembered what the wizard had said… _"Basically, anything within the cage is stripped of any quality that is considered…extraordinary. The bars of your cell are made with enchanted metal. Only an enchanted weapon will open them."_

"If that's true," Argon growled with a smile, still grasping the stone arm, "If things inside the cage are normal, then if my arms are outside, then they're back to normal. In which case, snapping stone shouldn't be too hard." With that, he began slamming a fist into the shoulder of the golem, which was hardly resisting. Just as he thought, the rock shuddered on the first hit, cracked on the second, and shattered on the third. The golem fell away, missing one of its arms. And that arm was now cradled in Argon's hands.

"A magical weapon hmm? Alright, then how about a magically enchanted golem arm? My own stone battering ram." Reversing it, he began to strike the padlock to his door with the great rock fist, hammering at it. After a dozen or so hits, the enchanted metal lock split, and with a simple kick, the door groaned open. "And with that," Argon chuckled, his eyes wide with a certain sort of madness, chucking aside the arm, and stepping out of his so-called prison, his wound already beginning to close, "Death is free once again."


	3. Inside A Madman's Funhouse

**Chapter 3:** Inside a Madman's Funhouse

The first thing Argon did as he emerged from that cage was to stretch his sore muscles, letting the power that had been restrained return to his form. The second thing he did, as a test to make sure he was back to normal, was to slam into the one-armed golem, with a thundering roar, fists swinging, kicking, biting even, and ripping huge hunks out of the emotionless thing. It took all of twenty seconds for it to become pebbles on the dungeon floor.

With that taken care of, he began to check around the dank chamber, searching for possible exits. There was a gloomy looking hallway, from which the golem had come trotting down, as well as small metal door off to another side. Argon chose the door. Trying the handle, it was no small surprise that it was locked. This was, for the most part, a prison after all. Fortunately, Argon had long since come up with an alternate and ultimately superior way of dealing with doors that were sealed.

He found a few cracks here and there to wedge his fingers into, stepped back, and wrenched the otherwise unmovable steel door right off its hinges, and flung it aside without a second glance. He stuck his head inside, and gave a shark smile. It seems he had picked correctly.

This room was surprising well kept. In it was yet another golem, this one standing immobile. It was guarding a long table, on which sat some very familiar items. Argon's equipment, right down to the magical rings. Before he got overly hasty, he approached the golem. As if reacting to his presence, it began to speak in its grumbling impassive undertones.

"_Prisoner…you must not escape. The master does not will it." _Seeing as this may at the very least get him some information, Argon didn't just tear into this golem, and rip it to pieces like the last.

"Your master hmm? The ugly bastard? Who is here, and where might I find him? I've got something for him." The golem didn't move, didn't even look who was addressing it, but answered nonetheless.

"_I am not permitted to speak with prisoners. Return to your cells. It is the master's wish."_

"Somehow, I don't think you're in the talking mood. I know…let me persuade you…" And with as much casualness as one drinks a beverage, Argon proceeded to snap the huge creatures arm right off, at the shoulder, and pitched it out the door behind him.

"How about now? Feel like talking rock-man?" But, as it was almost considered inanimate, the severe damage didn't change the golem's disposition.

"_You must not disobey the master. Return to your cell."_

"Oh well, I tried to be nice." Knowing this behemoth wasn't going to do anything remotely challenging, like…retaliate, Argon strolled behind it, climbed up its back, wrapped his fingers around its head, and with some superhuman pulling, tore it right off. He held this grossly oversized head in his hands, and he grinned at it.

"A souvenir of this place. But I doubt I could pawn it... Oh well," and proceeded to grind it into dust. With that little nuisance taken care of, he turned his attention to his equipment.

"Good thing that freak didn't touch my stuff…Good thing for him." His first order of business was to fasten his heavy plate armor in place, giving him the enhanced defense. This took only a few minutes, and this was followed by the Helm and Cloak of Baldarian, still in excellent condition. Then strapping on some leather bracers, and slipping his rings back on his fingers. Argon hadn't been wearing any footwear in the dungeon, so, it was pretty nice to slide the soles of his feet into the cool leather of the Boots of Speed, giving him that nigh uncatchable momentum.

And lastly, his favorite toy, he picked up his sword, which at once, almost as if it sensed its wielders' return, flared to life, with its horrible red fire.

"Nice to see you too," he spoke to the blade, giving it a grin. He had flashbacks of all the many people that he had slashed, impaled, decapitated, butchered and incinerated with that weapon. "And I'm not done yet. Now, let's see if I can find a way out of this hole. I'd like to introduce my captor to you." Once he was suited up, he stepped back into the dungeon, and proceeded down the murky hallway, trampling over the remains of several skeletons.

At the end, there was a bizarre machine, crackling electricity, generating small imp creatures, that were cackling and dancing about in a seemingly pointless manner. As the hulking armored fiend walked in, the lot of them, about six or so, began shrieking, and charged right at him. It was rather sad actually, they fruitlessly attacking him. He didn't even use his sword, as while they were trying to harm him, he reached down, took up one by the head, crushed its skull, chucked the carcass away, and went on to the next. Once they were dead, he casually stepped over to the device, and nonchalantly plowed his fist right through it.

It blew up in a blaze of lightning energy, which fried everything in the room, save Argon. He shook off the effects of severe electrocution as one would shake off rainwater. He continued on.

Down yet another hallway, full of creatures that are hardly worth mentioning, as Argon proceeded to maul them into mere gunk, found a large rather brightly illuminated chamber, with easily two dozen sizeable glass tanks, filled with water, as well as three that had…well _things_, floating inside. Sparking his curiosity, he leaned closer. They had vague humanoid forms, but couldn't have really been classified as human anymore.

"I'd kill them," he mused, "But they're probably in more pain like that, so I'll leave them." The majority of the tanks were empty, and just to make an impression of what he thought of his host, Argon tore the room to pieces, leaving only the three. "Have a nice life in there," he called as he left.

Going this way and that, he past a couple rooms filled with nothing noticeable, some storage by the looks, another golem, deactivated, and miscellaneous garbage, most of which was strewn about in a haphazard and slobbish way.

"No maid?" Argon questioned the inanimate statue, but got no answer. Moving on, a bit farther down, he came across a vast library, shelves of books, scrolls, and notes. Guarding said library, was a small platoon of assorted monsters, that were, by Argon's standards, not even maggots. After yet another brutal bout of savagery, he began pursuing the titles of the leather bound volumes.

Several things that pertained to Alando's prophecy, the Times of Troubles, and of course, the dead Lord of Murder, Bhaal. To him, they were meaningless. He didn't really care that much for half-truths, whole-lies, and nonsense pertaining to his parentage. "It's all worthless anyways. Bhaal's dead, I'm alive, and I kill people. Write _that_ in a book."

Just around the corner from that, there was a small gathering. Several dwarves, though with a closer look, on could tell that dwarves these were not. Close, but not quite. Their paler complexion, their lighter hair, and the somewhat nasty glare in their eyes all pointed to duergar, close relations to dwarves. As his echoing footfalls approached, they turned towards him, all of them armed with a crossbow and short sword.

"Be alert lads!" their leader called, "We've got company. Ho, prisoner! Ye've come to th' wrong place, I tell ye true! Ilyich and 'is boys'll stop you!" This empty and meaningless threat didn't exactly make Argon quiver in fear.

"Well," he informed this small band of no more than six duergar, "I'd have to say, that unless you've got about two hundred more of your _boys_ hanging around, then I think you'll be doing no such thing Ilyich."

"At 'im lads! No mercy!" With the command, the posse all drew their crossbows, leveling them at the towering Bhaalspawn in the door. "Bad move," Argon thundered, and though his voice was loud, his words still hissed in the duergar's ears. Like a swift flash of light, Argon dashed forward, his movements improved by the enchanted boots, and before anyone could launch a volley of already obsolete steel tipped crossbow bolts, he had rammed his flaming sword in its entirety through the leader, as well as some of his arm.

Without even slowing, he pulled free, swiped off the head of the nearest, and took a swing at the next. One happened to be a mage, but he never even had enough time to decide what spell he may have wanted to cast, before his head too was rolling on the stone floor, next to a few others. They carried nothing of notice, save the leader, who had called himself Ilyich. He had a small bag, brimming with seeds, the likes of which Argon hadn't seen before. "Hmm," he commented, putting them into his own carrying sack, "Might make a good snack later."

With them dispatched, Argon backtracked a ways, finding a long corridor, which led through a sewer, and ended up in a beautifully adorned room, with plush carpets, fine furniture, and top notch traps lining the floor, ranging from poison arrows, lightning bolts, and noxious gases. This had the barest of effects on Argon, namely, it slowed him down for a split second. No small accomplishment.

"This is one messed up place," Argon commented to himself. "First the dungeon, then all kinds of experimental equipment, and golems all over the place. And now this lavish room, filled with priceless pieces of crap. Mage, obviously. But I wonder…what is this asshole after?"

Scouring the room yielded nothing, so he went down, to a small inside grove of dark trees. Argon paused before entering the room, as he sensed something in the room beyond, something far stronger than the normal pitiful creatures he had battered thus far. He took a whiff, getting a scent. Then…he smiled. It was a smell he recognized, and something that he was craving.

He stepped past the threshold of trees, and advanced. There, cowering amongst the trees, were enchanting creatures; breathtaking to behold, almost like elven maidens, but different. Their presence was that of something natural, reflected by their minimal amounts of clothing, adorned with nature itself. Three dryads, the elusive tree sprits. At his approach, they seemed to hesitantly step out from the trees.

"Protect me!" cried one.

"Yes, help us!" begged the second.

"Free us," beseeched the third. Argon paused, looking the three over with a careful and scrutinizing eye.

"And who might you three ravishing young things be?"

"We are his possessions," the first informed him.

"His servants," added the second.

"His concubines," finished the third, a notable tone of disgust in her voice.

"I see. And who is this _his_, you are going on about? I assume the master of this place?"

"Yes, his name is Irenicus," the first revealed.

"A horrible necromancer," the second put in.

"The vilest sort of monster," the third spat out.

"Irenicus," Argon rumbled, rubbing his chin, happy that he now had a name to hunt. "Well, I've got a little something for him. It's a very painful death. Know where he's at?"

"Not in the dungeon," the first told him.

"Outside," said the second.

"Fighting interlopers," ended the third.

"Alright," he told them with a sharp growl, "you _really_ got to stop talking like that. Well, I'll be looking for a way out."

"Wait," cried the first.

"Yes, you must help us," the second pleaded.

"Yes, help us," reiterated the third.

"Now, why would I do that," he asked them, his tone mocking, his head tilting. "I'm not really into the business of _helping_ people. I happen to work under the principle of quid-pro-quo. Something for something else." The three traded worried, almost terrified glances.

"But we can tell you how to escape," the first told.

"Yes, and we have nothing else to offer you," the second almost apologized.

"Yes, nothing at all," the third emphasized. But Argon wasn't buying that. "Actually, that _isn't_ true," his eyes glowing with that terrifying black light. "You three _do_ have something I want. Something that I've haven't had in quite some time." He advanced in a crouch, like a panther, grinning. He turned his sword upside-down, and planted it into the ground, leaving it behind, coming all the closer. "You give me what I want, then I'll give you what you want. Do we have a deal?" The dryads gave each other forlorn looks, there being a hint of tears in their lovely eyes.

"We have a deal," the first told him, while the other two merely began removing their simple clothing.

_Twenty minutes later…_

"Ahh," Argon commented, feeling far less stressed and more relaxed, "I have to admit, that you three certainly know what you're doing. That _was_ something else." The dryads were huddled on the ground. They had not cried, they were stronger than that, and had suffered worse indignities.

"Now that you have had your fill," the first giving his a fiery glare, "Will you fulfill your end of this, and help us?" Argon finished putting his equipment back in place, then glanced behind.

"Well, actually, I wasn't going to," he began, the three dryads' faces growing pale, "But after that… shit, well I guess I _have_ to now."

"You are a beast of a human," the second declared with anger in her sweet voice, "but I suppose it does not matter so long as you help free us."

"You must find out acorns," the third explained, "and take them to the Fairy Queen, so our trees may be regrown, that we might escape." Argon grinned, pulling out the seeds he had acquired earlier.

"You must mean these, I take it? These are your _magic seeds_?"

"They are," the first answered, "If you truly are a man of your word, you will aid us. Take them to the Fairy Queen's grove. It resides northeast of a human settlement called Trademeet." He shrugged.

"Albeit from me to question your logic in this, as to why you need me to do this, if you already know the way out, but fine. Speaking of which, in addition to what you've already given, you said you'd tell me where the exit to this dump is at."

"We did," the second replied, "And we will tell you. You must first find the key. It is in…_her_ room."

"Yes, he still loves _her_" the third went on, "The key is there. A device to activate the portal, which he uses to get around. It will take you to the upper level. The exit is there." They pointed further down the grove of trees, to another faint light. "The key is in there. But be warned, it is full deadly devices."

"I've long since stopped worrying about those," he answered, and went off. As he entered the room, there was a short burst of warning bells, perhaps an alarm system, and at once, two golems just inside the room activated.

"_The sanctity of the mistress' room has been violated. The intruder will die!"_

"No, I don't think he will," but talking to these creatures was futile. They fell to the ground in smoldering pieces, a trifle at best. "So much for keeping the sanctity," he called behind, entering the chamber. As immoderate and posh as the other grand room had been, this was even better. The architecture was in graceful curves, spun carpets decorated with leaves, and furniture that was beautiful.

"Well, someone around here has good taste." A quick search of the room, resulting in easily half a dozen traps to fire, Argon found a large chunk of metal, vaguely shaped like a key.

"Pretty retarded key," he commented, tossing it up and down, "but if it gets me the hell out of this rank place, then I don't really give a damn." He returned to the original luxurious room, and at the opposite end, in a deep alcove that had numerous boxes, was a twelve span tall round gate, with a glittering, sparkling surface, like illuminated liquid. "Guess with this thing I can go in now. Looks like its water. Oh well, time to go swimming!"

With no hesitation, Argon approached, and passed through the gateway, which was accompanied by both a gurgling whirling whine of energy, as well as a most peculiar sensation. Like that of stepping through an enormous bubble. There was darkness, but only for a few seconds, before a rush of wind, and flash of light, and Argon was glancing around. He quickly saw that he was not alone. An almost ridiculously smaller man watched him emerge, and approached, a sly and wary grin on his mouth.

"So," he exclaimed, in a welcoming tone, with a most peculiar accent, "there is sanity in all of this madness. If you are not in league with the evil that dwells in this unholy place, Yoshimo begs your assistance."


	4. Dungeon Weirdness

**Chapter 4: **Dungeon Weirdness

"Man," Argon commented, looking the man up and down, "You are one _short_ dude. Haven't been drinking your milk there?" The newcomer, who had indiscreetly introduced himself in the third person as Yoshimo, grinned back.

"Yes, I seem to be finding myself among those that are far taller and more imposing than myself. For that reason, seeing as how you are so very large, I ask for you aid."

"Alright little man, what help do you want exactly? And I suggest that you speak quickly, as it will determine your lifespan. I'm in a rather angry mood right now, and all I want to do is get out of this stench-ridden dungeon, and find the son of a bitch who brought me here." Despite the promise or perhaps threat of death, Yoshimo never batted an eye.

"Of course. You see kind sir, I myself am, or rather was, a prisoner in this place. I am unsure how I came to be here…like you, I suspect. It has been a trying ordeal to find a way out, but alas, my efforts are not going as well as they could, I being wounded in my attempt. I have been trapped in this room, and was unable to use the portal from which you have come. And by what you have said, you too are seeking the way out, so the portal must not be it. I was hopeful that we could join together, and search for an exit from this unsavory place. Two, after all, are mightier than one."

Argon thought on this. He really didn't think he would need anyone's help in getting out. He had already used the portal, and gained access to the upper level, so, the exit couldn't be too far off. Besides, he had long grown weary of traveling companions.

"Now why should I believe that? I was locked down there in a magical cell, and I only got out through sheer cunning. How did a small fry like you get out? I don't think the wizard in charge of this place is so sloppy as to let prisoners escape so easily." Even as he was speaking, Argon was already resolved to kill this man. It was really nothing personal, and in another time and place, he may have liked his company. But he was a murderer, and he didn't want to let himself fall out of his own reputation. However, what the man said in response, got him to hold back.

"Yes," he agreed, "I suppose that does warrant an explanation, if we are to have trust. My name is Yoshimo as I have said, and I am by trade a…sneaksmen shall we say? Among other things of course. I have gotten quite use to picking locks, and disarming cunning traps, meant to foil normal prisoners. I can assure you, it was no small task to break free, and I had to run from a persistent golem guarding me when I did. And despite my best efforts, this place is unwilling to submit, and let me leave unhindered, as I arrived in the room beyond this one, and these numerous crackling…fiends attacked me. And for each one I killed, another appeared to take its place. Eventually, I had to run into here, and lock the door. And without knowledge on how to use the portal, I was trapped."

Argon listened, all the while examining the mans face and words. It wasn't like he was worried about this man being a spy. He didn't care one way or the other. But if he _was_ on the level, Argon wasn't going to object to a thief. Thieves could get information, they could acquire things that most could not acquire, and they weren't notorious for being moral. Perhaps in this rare exception, alive was better than dead.

"Humph. I suppose if you want to follow behind me, feel free. But before we go, I want to know…why are _you_ down here? The wizard wants something from me. What about you? What is your purpose here?" At this, Yoshimo's face grew a tint red, and with a clearing of his throat, half-turned away.

"It is actually quite uh…embarrassing. My profession does not leave itself open to those that are not wary, yet somehow I was caught unaware. I came to Athkatla years ago from Kara-Tur, to seek my fortune. At some point, I went to bed in my room at the Copper Coronet and I awoke in a strange room with a very sore head. I do not know how long I was out, so there is no telling whether we are still in Athkatla, or somewhere else entirely. And as for the reason I am here, I cannot say. Perhaps this wizard captor of ours needed subjects for a vile experiment, and thought that I may do rather nicely."

"Amn," Argon commented, thinking back. _Sarevok wanted to start that war with Amn. So, I guess it wouldn't surprise me that I'm there now. _Snapping back to the now, he rolled his shoulders, and stepped past Yoshimo.

"Alright, I've stood here long enough. I'm going on. If you're coming, just don't get in my way, else you'll lose your head. Got me?" Yoshimo nodded and bowed low, an odd gesture to say the least.

"I am honored to join you. Though, would it not be wiser to fight together? There are quite a few of those monsters beyond the door." This man's caution did nothing but make Argon grin.

"I'm not the type of person that does well with teamwork," he answered, "and in a minute, I think you'll understand why." With no warning, Argon charged forward in a wild stampede, bearing down on the small wooden door, the only visible exit from the room. It seemed to shudder at the approach of the human battering ram, rushing towards it.

Upon impact, it shattered to nothing, almost being vaporized as the mountain of a man barreled through it, leaving a clearly bewildered Yoshimo in the pervious room. Just as he had been told, there were numerous little creatures inhabiting the room; mephits, imps, quasits, and little bastard monsters like them.

_Knats_, Argon mentally ranking them on a scale of precisely how bothersome they were to him. His sword wasn't even that necessary. He used his heavy fists and boots, to crush their frail bodies, their corpse falling to the stone floor. And just like Yoshimo had warned, when one fell, another appeared to fight in its stead. This was because of these…portals, a cage housing a master creature, with the ability to warp in more.

"Crush the leader, and the flies die with it." Argon stepped through the horde, easily three dozen of them clawing at him, trying to inflict harm. No such luck. He carefreely strode to one portal, reached through the bars, and smashed its head, no doubt liquefying its brain to paste. At once, maybe eight mephits fell to the floor, just upped and died. This followed by the second portal, the third and the fourth. With each one down, a good fraction of the group fell, and soon none was left standing.

The assault complete, Argon began scanning the room. Nothing but junk, old furniture, some chests here and there, and two doors out. Back from the other room, the one with the portal, almost like a frightened mouse, Yoshimo poked his head into the room, peering about. On the floor were the carcasses of the seemingly endless supply of monsters, the fearsome giant of a man towering over their wretched remains.

_Such strength_, Yoshimo commented, _to do this single handedly, with no wounds to speak of afterwards…takes great power. I must be cautious with him; else my head may indeed roll. _Contrary to his own vigilant thoughts, he planted a warm smile on, and stepped into the room, gazing around.

"I see why you are capable of taking care of yourself. A most impressive display my friend. Perhaps I may yet see the sun again, if I am under your protection."

"Protection," Argon snorted, "I do not protect _you_ or _anyone_. You're in my wake, nothing more." This did surprisingly little to faze Yoshimo.

"Then, it is better to be the right hand of destruction, than in its path. So, which way do we go from here?" There were two doors leading to somewhere, and Argon was never good with guessing. He chose the closest one. Yoshimo followed, nimbly hopping around the mass of corpses. After a short hallway, there came a strange sight. It was a dead-end, the room being filled with more of the ever familiar glass tanks. Within these, were beings much more recognizable than in the previous rooms.

They were several bodies of women. The same woman by the looks, a breathtaking elven maiden. There were a few with the whole body, while others only had pieces, arms and legs, a torso or just a head. Rather frightening. And one jar was broken; one of the women was up and out, and in the midst of fighting another person. This man was garbed in black, a hood drawn over his face. Though the woman looked disoriented and clumsy, she was still quick and agile enough to slice open the neck to the thug battling her with a dagger in her delicate hands. When he fell, she noticed the daunting figure in the shadows.

"Ah, thou hast come once again to prey upon me, my _Master_!!" Argon glanced behind at Yoshimo, who merely shrugged, having a puzzled expression himself. Argon didn't strike at once, as he had a tendency to do. This clone, as that must have been what it was, this clone of a woman, she was quite the looker, and Argon's taste. He wasn't picky, but she seemed to appeal to him. The softness of elven flesh always tickled his fancy, a rare delight that he had experienced a couple of times in the past.

"That depends on who this master is," he answered back, stepping into the light, "But the question is, exactly who are you, who is made in the striking image of someone else? That, and where might I find the original?" This innuendo banter only served to agitate the clone.

She pointed a wild finger back at him, and shrieked, "Thou knowest who I am, foul one! Or dost thou now mistake me for _HER?! _You created me, fool! And killed and created and killed and created! And now, I shall put an end to thee!" Following this, with a frenzied yell, she leapt towards him, blade out in front, ready to stab.

Argon didn't move. He could have let her stab him, it wouldn't have bothered him, but he wanted her alive. At least until she got close. He grabbed her wrist, and yanked her in. At a distance, she had been attractive, but at close range, he could see that she was unfinished as a clone, having flaws in her skin, her features. It would be rather terrible to try and rape her now, like doing it with a half-dead person.

"Pity," he said aloud, before reaching around, and snapping the clone's neck with his hand. She went limp at once, and he casually tossed her limp body back in the room. Seeing no exits, he turned and walked right back out, as if nothing had happened. Yoshimo had a most peculiar look as he watched this massive human brush past him. Suddenly, he was getting a rather bad feeling, arriving at a conclusion that this man might kill him just for the fun of it. But for the moment, he stayed quiet, and followed, eager to leave.

The other door led to a much longer hallway, where several more men wearing black uniforms were battling creatures, goblins and mephits. Argon walked through the crowd, cutting man and beast down indiscriminately, just to get through. By the time he did, nearly three-fourths of everything was killed, the rest wounded. Beyond this was a chamber with stone pedestals to one side, each with a wand embedded in it. As Argon passed in front of one, magical balls of energy leapt out of the wand, and struck him. It did nothing.

He did pause though, walk over, and slam his fist into the statue. It broke apart, the apparatus coming undone. He went on to the next, smashed that, and the one after that, until all six where nothing more than fragments of stone and magical scraps.

"Pretty lousy defense," he muttered. Once that was done, he saw that he had quite a few choices when it came to ways to go. On one side of the chamber, there were three different hallways, leading to who knows what. On the other side, there was but one single door. Again, not good with guessing, Argon chose the lone door.

It turned out to be incorrect. Inside, a little ways down, were four people. Two of them were wearing the same black uniforms as the other nameless peons prior, and another, a woman this one, who was wearing the telltale robes of a mage. These three were facing off against the last occupant. A pale hunched creature, with dark lifeless eyes, fluid black hair, and overly pronounced canines. It reeked of undead, and it didn't exactly take three guesses to know which one. Vampire.

"Ah excellent" the abomination hissed at the three assassins, eyeing them with pitiless joy, "I see I am provided with fresh blood for once."

"Where is your master fiend," the mage demanded, ignoring the previous sickening remark, "We seek Irenicus! Give us the upstart, and you shall survive." Even Argon could see that these people had no chance of dealing with a vampire. They may have had their weaknesses, but they were unnaturally faster and stronger than any normal person, and they could drain away your life-force with but a touch.

"Already I am dead thief," it answered, edging forward, opening wide it's mouth, "Join me in darkness…"

"Enough! Kill this creature and raze the guild! Irenicus shall learn what of what it is to betray the Shadow Thieves!" The three attacked. Argon only watched, waiting. He would fight the victor. Yoshimo crept up, watching.

"Perhaps it would be wise to use this confusion to slip back the way we have come. We don't wish to draw any undesirable attention to ourselves." Argon shrugged.

"Go then…I'm waiting to kill the vampire." Yoshimo looked as if he did indeed wish to leave, but in a place that possibly had more blood-suckers lurking around, he felt safest at the side of the fearless behemoth. The vampire killed the two fighters as simply as a cat catches mice, snapping their necks, and tossing their limp carcasses aside. The mage was next, as she had finished creating a sword of fire to fight with, her head was yanked back, and her throat was all but torn out, due to the almost straining teeth of the thirsty monster. Her blood went everywhere, splashing onto the floor in great puddles, and much going all over the creature itself, much to its delight. Then, it saw the Bhaalspawn.

"More," it murmured, rising up from its kill, "More blood to feed on," In a blur of motion, it came flying forward, hands out, ready to grasp, and teeth parted, ready to bite. It never did either. Its inhuman speed was all for naught. Compared to Argon, it may as well have charged him with anchors attached to its legs. He crouched down, and sent an enormous fist out, colliding with its chest. The force of his godlike strength tore right through the vampire's much more fragile torso, as it went right in, and right back out again.

What's more, Argon's hand had gone in empty, but came out full, with a blackened chunk of flesh, that was pulsating. It's corrupted and corroded heart.

"No heart," he told the rapidly dying thing, "No blood." With a quick clench, the organ exploded in his hand, sending its vile blackened ooze coursing over his palm and squeezing through his fingers, like toxic jelly. Once it had died…again, Argon shoved the thing back off, and wiped his hand on the stone wall. Then, he left. Yoshimo watched all of this, flabbergasted. What he had seen was inhuman. Suddenly there was something he wanted to know.

"Pardon my asking," he apologized, "But I don't even think I ever got your name. Might I trouble you for it?" Argon wasn't in the habit of telling people who exactly he was, as they tended to either run or try and kill him, but these days, he didn't care much anymore.

"It's Argon." Yoshimo made a noticeable jump.

"Again, pardon my prying, but might you be the…" He was cut off with a somewhat threatening hand gesture.

"Yes yes, the guy who saved Baldur's Gate, and all that shit. That's me. That, and yes, I'm also known as Argon the Terrible. And before you even ask…I am _just_ as terrible as everyone says. I think you've seen enough of that to justify it. And I think you should be _very_ happy, as normally, you would have been dead only moments after meeting me. Consider it your good graces that you are alive at all. That, and you are a thief. When we get out, I may have use for you."

"Use for me? What use would one such as yourself have for someone like me? I am but a modest thief, trying to get by in the world."

"True enough, but I know that in Amn, if that's where we still are, thieves aren't usually freelancers. You report to someone higher up the ladder, and can make some introductions. And you heard those goons. The Shadow Thieves? What does that mean I wonder? Perhaps they have some insight to my capture. Information is their greatest strength. Besides, I would think that you would jump at the opportunity to help. After all, I seem to recall you yourself saying that it is better to be the right hand of destruction, rather than in its path. Right?"

Yoshimo, worried now about his wellbeing, knew that saying otherwise meant instant death. Not wanting that, and knowing that having a possible ally as strong and fierce as this inhuman savage, could be very beneficial.

"Indeed you are correct. I am humbly at your service."

"Good. Now, stop your yapping, and get walking." Following orders, Yoshimo shut his trap, and took up his position behind the giant. Argon picked another hallway, this one leading to what looked like a sewer system. What's more, it smelled like a sewer system. Standing on a catwalk, suspended over god-awful filth, were four men, casually waiting, each wearing the same black outfits as those before. When one saw and heard the approach of the two, he looked round, and stood up straighter. He pointed at them, and gave a short hyena laugh.

"Ahah! I knew there had to be reinforcements down here. Couldn't be that powerful by himself, I said!"

"As if anyone would ever care what an idiot like you would say," Argon shot back, "I suggest you start running, as in five seconds, I'm going to rip your guts out." This threat, though ominous and terrifying, didn't seem to bother the men. Perhaps they were too stupid to figure it out?

"Oh, you will, will you? Ha, I doubt that! I'll just put an' end to this here and now. We'll see the end of Irenicus and your little guild before this day is through!" But just as Argon had warned, he dashed forward, before the thief had finished bantering, and had sliced open the stomach of one of his counterparts, his now ablaze guts came spilling out, as he fell into them. The second had a deep burning gash swept diagonally across his chest; the third had his legs cut out from under him, and his neck snapped.

The last one, the boastful and mouthy one, was sliced into little pieces. And then, Argon walked past their remains, continuing his search. This show of intense and stomach-turning brutality was almost more than Yoshimo could take. He had seen his share of murder in his life, but this was just borderline of hellish. Still, he wasn't doubting that there wasn't a thing they may encounter there that would be able to halt their progress of escape, so he counted his blessings, few though they were.

Finally, after following a few more sewer tunnels, there was a steep incline, and at the end of a far away passage, was the flicker of light. True light, not that of a torch. The sun blazing brightly outside.

"Aha!" Yoshimo cried out, pointing in triumph, "We have found the exit. Well done my friend, your ability to navigate is most commendable."

"Don't celebrate just yet. Listen and look." He was indeed right. Things weren't over yet. For lying along the floor to the path reaching the surface, where numerous corpses, dozens of bodies, scarred and deformed with perverted magic. And from outside, there came the rumble of explosions, clashing of metal, and the yelling of enraged voices.

"Sounds like the wizard is in the middle of something up there. Maybe we should pop out and say hi?" Yoshimo didn't answer, but looked ready, though fearful at the same time. With no intentions of going back, the two started upward, making the trek back into the daylight, and into the sight of Irenicus.


	5. The Chase Is On!

**Chapter 5: **The Chase is On!

The initial burst of daylight always hurts the most. This holds true with any sudden blast of illumination after having your eyes adjusted to the dark. It's painful, and leaves one blind momentarily. For Argon and Yoshimo, it was painful and for moment, they could not see, but it was welcoming nonetheless.

The light, the warm of the sun, all of it was refreshing to feel on their skin, having been in a cold, clammy, unsanitary dungeon for who knows how long. It was this pleasing feeling that was melting away the bonds in their minds, washing away all thoughts of having been imprisoned. The pleasure lasted a short time unfortunately, as the surrounding circumstances were quite pressing.

Both of them had to shamble over a good portion of shattered white stone which littered the ground. This stone apparently came from a larger source, which was all around them. Argon rose to his feet, and spared a momentary glance around, to see what there was to see. He stood inside of a massive structure, constructed from the same material that he was trampling upon. It was in the shape of a huge oval, with elegant arches, risers, pillars and indentations on the sides, as well as lacking a roof entirely.

Built into the sides of this massive construction were doorways, carts of merchants, and even in the center, down on the ground level there was several brightly colored pavilions. Along the sides there were stairs to reach the higher levels, where even more people were. Argon gazed around this glorious place, and came to his conclusion quickly.

Yoshimo had mentioned being in Amn, and the capital city of Athkatla. If that was true, and they hadn't been moved that far, then he would hazard a guess that this place was Waukeen's Promenade, the famous marketplace, where one could find and sell nearly anything. And in the midst of this shopper's paradise, there was something going down. Something rather enormous indeed.

Standing atop the majority of the ruined section of the Promenade, was a familiar creepy face. The wizard from the dungeon. Irenicus. He was currently staring down another group, consisting of maybe a dozen men, garbed in black, their faces covered, all of them inching forward with swords out, as if ready to engage in heavy combat. Irenicus however, didn't look too concerned about their actions.

"You dare to attack me here?" he rather calmly asked the interlopers, "Do you even know whom you face?" Before any of them had a chance to do anything, such as answer or attack, Irenicus's hands rose, and with a flare of turquoise light, one of the assassins exploded. That's the best term for what happened, he just seemed to blow up, sending parts of him flying everywhere. There was a huge splash as nearly the majority of his blood hit the ground in a surging wave, pooling all over the stones, turning them crimson. This, as well as a sickening smack as what little was left of him touched down.

"You will suffer!" Irenicus suddenly roared, his hands glowing once again, clearly illustrating his irritation, "You will _all_ suffer!" What happened next was quite disturbing and remarkable. Irenicus began pointing and waving his fingers and hands at the remaining attackers, and nearly all of them died instantly. One simply vanished, transforming into little pieces of sand, another turned into a statue of stone, but was immediately shattered, while one poor fellow was set on fire, and ran around screaming for a few moments, until he was somewhat mercifully struck by a lightning bolt, shearing his flaming head from his neck.

And even more grisly deaths as well, until only two remained, who figured that now might be as good a time to run. Which they did, turning tail, and dashing away, through a small crowd of people that were watching the unfolding spectacle from afar. With that nuisance taken care of, Irenicus nonchalantly looked round, sensing someone else watching him. Someone more important and powerful. There, he saw his experiment crouching just at the exit of his dungeon, as well as a thief. He smiled, pleased, and slightly surprised by this.

"So godchild, you have escaped, you are more resourceful than I had thought." Seeing as he was finally ready to address him now, Argon rose from his squat, a maniacal grin on his face, rather impressed at the incredible display of magical prowess that this corpse-to-be possessed.

"Well, it sounded like you were having fun out here, and I sure _hate_ to miss fun. That, and I was getting a little bored of you ham-handed torture sessions. It just wasn't doing it for me anymore."

"Torture? Silly boy, you just don't understand what I'm doing, do you?" This apparently must have been true, for Argon shrugged.

"Maybe, but it doesn't really matter, does it? After all, I'm going to kill you now, and dead men's words hold no meaning. And after I'm done with you, I'll be on my way, and see what this miserable country has to offer me."

"I won't let you leave," Irenicus told him, his voice very low and menacing, "not when I'm so close to unlocking your power!"

"Hah. I'm coming to the conclusion that you're not a very good listener, are you? Because I've already been clear that what _you_ want doesn't really matter here…remember? You'll be dead in a few moments, and then all your troubles and worries will be gone just like that. My gift to you." Irenicus's face grew somewhat sour, as he scowled back up at the boasting Bhaalspawn.

"Enough! I will no longer listen to babbling of ignorant children." So saying, he instantly fired up another spell, one probably designed to harm Argon severely. For indeed, he was surrounded by flames that tore at his body. However, once the storm of fire had vanished, he was still standing, unharmed, and smoking. He grinned at the begrudged mage.

"Who are you calling a child, you son of a bitch?" A clash seemed imminent. Both wizard and warrior stood, their expressions firming up. A flaming sword in one's hands, while the other's fingers were poised, ready to launch yet another mystical assault. Yoshimo watched this, hunkered down. It seemed that these two super powers, a seemingly invincible mage and a seemingly invincible killing machine were ready to fight, in a struggle that would no doubt bring down the rest of the Promenade.

However, with a swirl of mystic gateways all around them, several wizards teleported onto the scene. They were the Cowled Wizards, an organization who monitored the use of magic in the city of Athkatla, as it was frowned upon by many and outlawed. In but a moment, Irenicus was surrounded by four Cowled Enforcers, while another stood near Argon.

"This is an unsanctioned use of magical energy," one called out, mainly addressing his announcement towards the increasingly agitated necromancer. Another Cowled continued where the first left off.

"All involved will be held. This disturbance is over." Irenicus on the other hand, was not thrilled to hear this in the least, now turning his wrathful glare at these insects of enforcement.

"Must I be interrupted at every turn?! Enough of this!" Without hesitation, he began casting even more spells, having an almost seemingly limitless supply of them. The Cowled Wizards, use to people surrendering quickly and quietly, else suffer their might, suddenly found themselves in the path of an obviously powerful spellcaster, who began bombarding them with nasty attacks. In but a moment, one Enforcer blew apart, leaving only his tattered robe and fragments of his quarterstaff.

Seeing this, the others sprung to action at once, casting their own spells, ready to use violent force if need be to subdue this lawbreaker. After a few moments though, of watching these dueling wizards, it was clear who was superior. Another Cowled fell, followed by another. And then one more. As the first two fell, there was another swirl of magic, as more Cowled arrived at the scene to lend a hand.

"This mage's power is immense," one of the new arrivals gaped, at this awesome display of magical talent, "We must overcome him quickly!" Irenicus meanwhile, was almost getting bored eradicating these weaklings, and more importantly, he had many other imperative things to do.

"Enough, I haven't the time for this!"

"You will…cease your spellcasting and come with us!" one Cowled demanded, though his appearance looked as if he was someone terrified by this man. Irenicus answered with the nasty and cold truth.

"Your pathetic magic's are useless…_Let this end!_"

Of course, the Cowled Wizards _could not_ back down. They certainly wanted too, what with their very lives hanging in the balance, knowing that this man was ultimately superior, they would have much preferred to flee. But they knew if word got around that they had let a wizard slaughter some of their number, and escape, there would undoubtedly be a tremendous scandalous backlash that could scar their whole order. Above all else, they could not let that happen. They had to…no; they _needed_ to get this man to surrender.

"Even if we fall, our numbers are many," one informed him sternly, trying to project a confident persona, "You will be overwhelmed." Irenicus glanced past these fools at the Bhaalspawn. Argon meanwhile, was sitting back, and watching. He was enjoying the carnage, that was clear, but he was waiting for Irenicus to annihilate the remaining interferers, before he would stampede down there, so that he could slice and dice the arrogant bastard. For he knew that Irenicus was stronger than the Cowled Wizards, it was after all, painfully obvious.

Irenicus however, was no fool. He knew that he had depleted a good portion of his power to fight off all of these intruders. And he also knew that Argon was now a significant threat at this point. He was strong, fast, intelligent, ruthless, and very much immune to the effects of many spells. The chances that Irenicus could win a one on one fight with him here and now were slim at best.

Besides that, he had a hunch that his laboratory downstairs had taken a significant amount of damage, now unusable. A new base of operations would be needed. So, instead of risking a fatal battle, and with the opportunity of gaining new resources, Irenicus lowered his hands, smirking up at the Bhaalspawn, who at once saw what was about to happen, then turned to the closest Cowled with an expression that now showed great disdain.

"You bore me magling. You _may_ take me in." There was a clear sigh of relief, as the wizards moved in, ready to apprehend him. Argon however, had just gotten _very_ hot around the collar and was beginning to see a rather bright shade of red.

"Hold it," he snarled, "Where do you think you're going?" The one Cowled closest to him glanced over, looking the huge brute up and down.

"He is in our custody now, and we are taking him to be judged. Do not interfere."

"The hell you are! I've got a bit of an unpaid debt with him, and I'll not let worms like you get in my way of gutting him like a fish!" With that, leaving Yoshimo behind, still flabbergasted, he lunged for the nearest Enforcer, with intentions of breaking his frail body in half. However, nonchalantly, the wizard teleported away, as did several of the others.

Irenicus gave Argon another smirk, before saying, "Farewell godchild." And then, he too was gone, leaving Argon all by himself on top of that collapsed section of the Promenade, surrounded by gore. Needless to say, but said anyway, Argon was rather angry, that of course being ridiculous, as he was more than mad enough to wage a one man war against the world, and slaughter everything in it.

He had so _badly_ wanted to kill that villainous gasbag. Not because he was evil, but because he had thought himself so superior. Nothing in the world made him quite as furious as the kind of weaklings that thought so highly of themselves. With no wizard to butcher and stab, he fell to the ground, slamming his great fists into the stone chunks, grinding them into powder.

_"GODDAMNIT!"_ he bellowed, beating the unfeeling rock, wishing that it would scream, as if to mirror his pain. Yoshimo rose from where he was, and advanced a bit. He was still trying to decide on what he should do. He was free now, and alive, in that department, he counted himself most lucky. While Argon looked so livid, no doubt he had murder in his mind. No real shock.

Yoshimo's only real concern is if he approached him, even with offers of help, the enraged man-killer might suddenly turn on him, and kill him just for the reason of being there. As a thief, he could rather easily slip away in the chaos, and vanish, but he was a bit more honor bound than that. This man, despite having an overzealous desire to kill, did assist him greatly in emerging from such a horrible place, so he felt obligated to help. With this in mind, he came closer, stepping through the debris.

"A most unfortunate turn of events. Our wizard captor…whisked away by the Cowled Wizards to parts unknown. But perhaps not all is lost. As you mentioned earlier, you may have use for me. Perhaps that this might be the moment? As I do have some connections with the Shadow Thieves, and speaking to them might shed some light as to where they have taken him. It is worth a try I suppose. Unless of course you have a…alternate course of action?"

Argon listened to this, still crouched on the ground, and his eyes closed. This was the sort of reason why he hadn't slain Yoshimo the moment he presented himself. Thieves have information that is hard to obtain at their disposal. They knew things, and if there was anyone beside the Cowled Wizards who might know where they took Irenicus, then it would be the Shadow Thieves. A most fortunate turn of events. Eventually, after venting all of his frustration out on the rocks, he rose, and turned to his shorter cohort.

"You've been here before right? In this city?" Yoshimo nodded. "Good. Then tell me where I might find the Shadow Thieves headquarters. I'll bet my right eye that they have a base of operations. Where is it?"

"I must admit, that I am…well, hesitant to say, as if you believe my usefulness has ended, you may be inclined to discard me…Surely you understand my concern…" Argon shook his head.

"No. You tell me where they are. You go ahead of me, and give them the story. When I get there, they had better know what I want, else someone's gonna get dead. Understand?"

"Of course. They are located in the dock section of the city, the southwest region. I shall make all speed there myself, and seek what aid I am able. But what of you? Are you not eager to learn what has become of the wizard?"

"Yes, I am. But I'm curious. I've never been this far south before, nor have I ever been to this city. I'd like to see what exotic things that are here before getting things serious. Pleasure before business. And with the promise of finding out where he has been taken has cooled me down. Now get going. I'm going to take my time around here, and see what this city has to offer. And just in case you thought about ditching me somewhere…if I find out that you've given me false information, I will forget the necromancer, and spend the rest of my life hunting you down. I trust you follow?"

"I do indeed. My words are nothing but the truth, I assure you. Well then, if you are to see what splendors this city can present, than I shall not keep you. I will see you at the docks. Farewell." And making a hasty exit, Yoshimo hopped down, and darted into the crowd of spectators, that was beginning to thin out. Argon was by himself again, just how he liked it.

"A new city," he mused, savoring the air, and taking in the luxurious sight of the Promenade in all its glory. "And new havoc to spread. I'm…looking forward to it."


	6. A Day at the Circus

**Chapter 6:** A Day at the Circus

Now that Argon was free to move around at his own leisure, he was looking to make up for lost time. But where to start? Waukeen's Promenade was a renowned marketplace, full of people at almost every time of the day, and even during the night. A famous butchering madman going on a rampage in a famous marketplace in a famous sort of fashion adds up to quite a bit of fame. Not that Argon _really_ cared about such things.

People knew his name whether or not he tried to promote himself. So long as his name, notorious or not, put fear into people's hearts and spread horrific tales about his deeds across the land, then he was happy with the world. His first order of business was to step down off the towering pile of rubble he was still perched on, part of the Promenade that had collapsed during Irenicus's defense against the intruders. With him sitting atop it, quite a while since the show had ended, it was earning him a stare or two.

_They won't be the last I get today_. He chuckled to himself. With a running start and a mighty bound, he leapt off the mountain of stone debris, sailing a great distance through the air, and came crashing down right atop a table that a man and a woman were sitting comfortably at, enjoying a nice drink. Both were dressed rather fashionably, in flowing ruffled silk clothing, complete with bright exuberant colors, no doubt part of the city's aristocracy. And they were undoubtedly angry at how this boorish ruffian had destroyed their outing of watching commoners scurry about, as well as spilling their wine all over their clothes.

"By Jove," the fellow cried out with indignity, fruitlessly attempting to wipe the rapidly growing stains of wine across his blouse, "What in the world do you think your doing, you uncouth brute?! Have you no sense at all? Really now, jumping about like a loutish Neanderthal, its enough to make me wonder as to why all you lot aren't rounded up and put into prisons."

"Quite right darling," the lady agreed, looking none too pleased herself about her now ruined ensemble. She turned a nasty glare towards Argon, who was casually dusting pieces of wreckage off himself. "How dare you! You've completely spoiled my newest dress. Do you even realize who we are, you brainless oaf? We are Lord and Lady Finklie, of noble blood, so I assure you that we are well connected with many high officials, as well as several members of the Council of Six. And after such a rude and blatant disregard for the wellbeing of your betters, I have half a mind to summon the guards, and have them throw your worthless hide in jail. Unless you think you'd be able to rectify the situation…Doubtful I'd say, a penniless pauper like you could never _dream_ to afford such luxuries as this."

All this droning and bantering seemed to become nothing more than a dull buzz in Argon's head, high pitched whining that only served to fuel his dark lust for causing pain. And seeing as they were all but asking for it, he decided to be nice, and deliver. He glanced round at the couple, still griping and fuming about their misfortunate.

"Oh I'm sorry," he apologized lightly, giving off a wide grin, "How clumsy of me. But I tell you what…I have a solution that will make everyone happy. How's that?"

"So you _do_ speak Common," the lady scowled heavily, "Humph…I was beginning to think that you had as much intelligence as a mere stone. Very well then, what is it that _you_ plan to do?" Argon's smile only grew larger, and what many would deem as…more psychotic.

"Well, I'll be a gentleman, and get that stain out for you. Here we go…" and with as much casualness as pursuing a storefront, he laid a huge heavy hand on the ladies shoulder, and before she could protest or order his hands off her, his sword came straight forward. The searing point puncturing the soft skin of her chest, as he carefully, almost gently slid it inside her slowly, the blood about the blade boiling, the nearby organs shriveling and melting, and finally to come tearing out of her back with a ripping sound, of both cloth and flesh.

Her eyes bulged opened wide, as did her mouth, letting out dry heaves, she staining to make some sort of sound, her hands feebly trying to lift up and push herself away. As her life was vanishing, the last thing she saw was those two malevolent black eyes looking back at her, there being a spark of glee in each one.

The Lord stood on, horrified, watching the skewering of his Lady by this murderous behemoth, but he was far too terrified to do anything, such as call the guards, scream, or better yet…run like hell. Argon winked at the eyes of the Lady, as the last traces of life left her, and he pulled his sword free, there being a sickening crunch and meaty split.

"There we go," he told her dead corpse, still cheery and smiling, "Nothing gets wine stains out like blood and fire. But, now that you look like that, we can't leave your husband high and dry. After all, couples should dress alike, shouldn't they?" He lifted his eyes upward, to see the paralyzed noblemen.

"Shall we sir?" In an instant, Argon vaulted over the dead woman, and clapped a huge metal hand around the Lord's mouth, hoisting him into the air. The Lord struggled, his legs kicking in vain.

"Don't worry. This won't hurt. It's actually going to in the category of very near unbearable. But at least you'll die quickly. Okay?" Not wasting any more words, Argon lifted his sword once again, this time bringing the point right up to the Lord's eye, the tip not but a few inches away. In his eyes, there was absolute terror, knowing at what was about to happen, and the Lord redoubled his efforts to escape. These efforts were wasted.

Leisurely, Argon nudged the sword forward, only a little at a time, and after teasing the noble, made contact, the eyeball popping on the initial puncture, and began to ooze. The convulsing began then, the Lord began to thrash even more wildly than before, surprisingly strong for so short and scrawny a man. But not nearly strong enough. Argon took his time, inching his blade forward going in only a little ways, pausing, then continuing. Eventually, the blade came out of the back of his skull, complete with the cracking of bone, but the Lord had long since expired from the shock and brain damage.

"Aww, I like it better when they scream. I'll do that next time. Now…" After letting corpse number two fall, Argon turned about, waiting for the swarms of armed guards to come tearing after him, yelling about justice and arrest, among other equally ludicrous things. But alas, there were no such guards. In fact, no one at all seemed to notice the whole gory spectacle in the slightest. Argon was, in the fewest of words…quite put out.

The laid-back torture of the two pompous idiots would normally almost all but guaranteed to bring loads of fear upon bystanders, and thoughts of vengeance from law enforcement. _You would think people would be a bit more attentive of their surroundings, _he told himself with a shrug, _Or perhaps it merely wasn't grandiose enough_. _I guess I'll have to make things a bit larger than that_.

A bit dissatisfied that his first real act of violence upon the innocent went unnoticed, Argon was certainly not the kind to give up. He was a man who was good at what he did. Murder, and it was his personal view that everyone should do what they are best at. And he hated to disappoint himself. Leaving his two victims behind, he strolled out into the center area of the Promenade, down at bottom, the risers above and around filled with shops. The middle section was always more crowded, there being shows and exhibitions to draw mass attention. A perfect place indeed to start a riot.

In actuality, massacres weren't really Argon's style. He was more about committing heinous crimes to individuals, leaving them in anguish, or killing them outright, until his name began to spread like a vile disease. But he could hardly turn away from such a special chance. This place was all but paved in gold, the opportunities limitless for starting chaos. Just as he suspected, he spied a decent crowd, milling about a large exuberantly colored tent, their faces already showing signs of apprehension and nervousness.

As he approached, with slaughter in his mind, Argon was in the process of picking the sorriest person from the crowd to bully and eventually kill, but as he passed several people, he heard whisperings about trouble. These remarks were not directed at him, though that would have made sense. No, most everyone was looking off towards the tent in question. A lone Amnish guard was stationed at the entrance flaps, and he too was rather anxious looking, glancing behind into the darkness every now and then, his fingers tightening on his weapon.

His curiosity sparked somewhat, Argon stepped up behind a woman who was standing on the sidelines.

"What's going down?" The woman in question flinched from hearing such a dark and formidable voice right behind her, and stole a fearful glimpse over her shoulder. What greeted her were two black eyes piercing back at her.

"Didn't you hear," she finally found her voice, answering, "There's been some trouble at the circus. They've closed it down, they have. I don't know what the problem is, though me husband still be in there. No doubt makin' eyes with some cheap floozy…" Argon knew this woman was but an outside observer, and thus attempting to obtain any further useful information from her would have been pointless. He left her to her grumblings about the morality of her husband, and he stepped up through the crowd.

The guard was tensely glancing about, standing on his tip toes and craning his neck, as if expecting someone. What he saw instead was an enormous armored giant pushing the crowd aside, approaching. As he drew near, the guard stood a little higher, snapping his feet together, and raising his weapon up.

"Hold," he announced, lifting a staying hand, "This tent has been closed off for your own safety, citizen! The circus is closed until this matter is resolved." Argon stood right in front of him, easily a span and a half taller. He grinned down at the guard, whose level of discomfort rapidly increased.

"And what matter is that?" he inquired, his shark smile making the guard quiver. But still he answered.

"We are not exactly sure. There was no problem until a show was scheduled earlier this morning. Apparently, the show began well enough…and then something occurred. Nobody has come out of the tent who went in for the show…and everyone we have sent in to investigate has not come out either. Foul magic is, no doubt, involved here. We are waiting for the Cowled Wizards to arrive. They will be able to solve this. I am sure."

The whole situation sounded a bit peculiar, and to Argon, that was something that always tickled his fancy. In traveling about, he had always liked to see things that were not common place, as strangeness and oddities was almost in his very nature. So naturally, they called to him, and he certainly wasn't about to walk away. He may have wanted to start a massive amount of carnage so much so that he could taste the blood, but this seemed more intriguing. He could mass murder people anytime. This however, was something rare.

"Sounds interesting. I think I'll take a look…" and he started past. The guard on the other hand, chose that moment to become rather obstinate.

"I'm sorry citizen, but I'll not add you to my list of problems. We've lost a whole garrison squad in this tent, and I doubt you will do any better…" With a casual grab, Argon seized the collar of the ring mail this solider was wearing, and hoisted him up to eye level.

"I wasn't asking." And not so much as with a second glance, hurled the guard aside, sending his sailing across the promenade to crash into yet another tent. With that annoyance out of his way, Argon pulled the canvas flap back, and stepped into the darkness.

Inside, things grew quite dim, with the barest of radiances reaching Argon's eyes. It took a moment for his vision to readjust to the gloom, but once they did, he started taking in the sights. It looked as if he was now standing inside a cave of almost incomprehensible size, making the whole concept rather bizarre. After all, he had just entered a modest sized tent, and it led to a place that could _never_ have fit inside such a tent, and probably, inside the entire promenade either.

Dominating this Tent of Holding, was a gargantuan rounded dome structure, a palace or citadel that made many castles and keeps Argon had seen before seem dwarfish. It was eloquent and lavish, having a tasteful sense of architecture, but at the same time, a shadow loomed over it, making its otherwise extravagant and unblemished features seem flawed and…well, just wrong somehow. This building was sitting on a rocky island, with a great chasm between. The only visible path connecting where Argon now stood and this eccentric place was a marble bridge.

It was Argon's experience that when one approaches an edifice of such incredible scope, and crossing a bridge to reach it, there more often then not, is what many refer to as…a bridgekeeper. Someone or something that guards the entryway, and doesn't allow just anyone to cross, and waltz right into the place. This was no exception. He had taken but two steps, when with a flare and swirl of dimensional power, a Dao Jinn appeared before him.

"Aha!" it exclaimed in an elated tone, its voice thick with its peculiar accent, common among all the Dao. "I see a wayfarer has come to amuse Kalah! You must answer a riddle, naturally, ere I will allow you to pass this bridge. Are you ready to hear it?"

This sort of nonsense wasn't all that surprising. The Dao always liked to make games of things, not taking the straight forward path. They delighted in detours and roundabouts, making lesser beings dance for their amusement. Argon wasn't one to dance.

"A riddle huh? Sounds boring. I know…why don't you tell me who's in charge here, and then we see how long you can keep me in a peaceful frame of mind, lest I rip you in half otherwise."

"Kalah does not reveal himself to those who are not worthy. Are you ready to begin?"

"Maybe you didn't hear me, so I'll say it again. No riddles. And I assume this Kalah is the boss? And he's inside? Well, I'm itching to meet him, so why don't you jump off this bridge here, and save me the trouble of disemboweling you." At this, the Dao chuckled loudly, flashing a somewhat wild grin.

"Ha ha ha! You amuse me, little mortal. Bluster as you wish, I shall not allow you to pass until you have solved my puzzle." It would have been a simple matter with annihilating this pest, but Argon wanted to drag this fun out.

"You know what? It's your lucky day…For once, I think I'll try it your way…just to shake things up and see where it takes me. Fire away, genie man." Pleased that he could at last precede, the Dao bowed.

"Excellent. A princess is as old as the prince will be when the princess is twice as old as the prince was when the princess' age was half the sum of their present age. Which of he following then, could be true?" A moment of silence passed, nothing but breathing piercing the quiet. "Hmm," Argon mused aloud, "Don't know, don't care." The Dao gave a smirk, and waved a finger.

"You will get nowhere, my friend, if you do not make the attempt. Being as benevolent as the mighty Kalah, however, I will allow you another opportunity. Here it is, my friend: The poorest have it, the richest need it, but if either was to eat it, they would certainly perish. Tell me what _it_ is!" Argon once more directed a nasty grin at the smirking genie.

"Please see previous answer." Striking a nerve at the insolent attitude, the Dao rose up, fire in its eyes.

"Fool! Can you not even guess? The answer is 'nothing'! If you eat nothing, you will perish, naturally. And perish you shall, because Kalah suffers no fools!" With a roar and shout, the Dao leapt forward, his fists glowing with cosmic energies.

Argon answered this charge with his own fist, flashing forward, and striking his foe with superhuman strength, unhinging the Dao's head, and causing it to stumble. Following this, Argon's sword came out, made a lightning fast incision across the throat of the stunned genie, before returning to its sheath.

As the planar creature began to dissolve into vapors, only to drift apart, Argon stepped past, crossing the bridge.

"Just so you know," he called back, though nothing could really hear him, "I knew both those answers." The primary entrance to this monolithic castle was a wide opening, an arch, which connected to a hallway, narrowing down as it went on. It was clear that whoever was in command of this place, this…Kalah, he was watching, for there was an unmistakable sense of being observed. The hallway emptied into another chamber, with pillars and winding staircases, and even little fountains here and there. In such a lovely setting, ugliness is out of place; hence the monster standing in the center of the path seemed rather odd.

It was tall, taller than Argon even, massive, stinky even, ugly, with a jutting low jaw, bald head, and grossly undersized garments and armor on it's huge frame. An ogre, a spiked club clenched in its hands, just standing there, looking passive. At the sound of his approach, this creature turned to the door, with an expression of unmistakable fear on its hideous face. Before Argon could mutilate this creature, and have a fun time doing so, it spoke to him.

"Who are you? Oh, whoever you are, you must flee this place at once! He…he's killed everyone else who has come into this place; almost. Oh, please run!" Strange words coming from the mouth of an ogre, sure enough, but the voice was horribly mismatched for the appearance. Instead of a horrendous grating of claws on stone, which was an ogre's normal voice, this was the soft gentle voice of a young lady, sounding both very much afraid and pleading. Argon put his lust for bloodbaths on hold, and stood still.

"Well," he said aloud, looking the creature with the lovely voice up and down, "Here's one for the record books, I'd say. Care to explain how a thing like you has a voice like that? Quite a neat trick."

"I…I'm not a monster!" came the stammering and frightened reply, "I'm an elf, a winged elf…or at least I was…This…this covering you see is some kind of illusion, but if you believe in it then it becomes real. P-please believe me! Now go before something happens to you, I beg of you!"

Leaving was currently the last thing on Argon's mind at the moment, and if the Dao guardian outside was any indication of how powerful the things in the place were, he wasn't exactly fearful for his personal safety. He wanted to see where this took him. Quite the little drama indeed.

"Illusions huh? I figured as much, and it goes far in explaining this place. The Dao outside was babbling about a…Kalah…I take it he's the freak behind the curtain here?" The illusionary ogre let off a most peculiar noise, a harsh gasping, but it soon became apparent that whoever was behind the illusion was sobbing.

"Oh, I don't know what he's done, exactly, or how…but everything here is an illusion! But it's magic that can hurt you, if you believe in it. You probably don't understand, do you? I…I don't know what he's done to the tent, or with the others who have come in, but their deaths are real! You _must_ run!"

"No way, this sounds too interesting to take off now. Besides, I didn't really have anything else planned for today. Why not have a chat with me, and tell me the whole spiel. And don't worry about _my_ safety…I'll…be fine."

"Oh, I hope you don't end up like…like the others! But alright…M-my name is Aerie. I…work in the circus with my uncle Quayle…I don't know exactly what happened, but everything changed a few days ago…everything became chaos and turned into what you see here. Although it all isn't real, it's an illusion…" She paused, and lifted her large brutish head upwards, scanning the ceiling, as if she expected to see a pair of eyes looking down on them. There being nothing overhead, she went on.

"The minions…they all say they serve Kalah, so I know he's behind all of this…he's an illusionist in the circus, but I don't understand how he was able to do all of this! He must be stopped! Before he hurts any more people! Please…if…if you release me from my chains, I can help you stop him!"

Argon sauntered into the room as he listened, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at this ogre illusion, or what have you. From what he could see, there were no chains. She noticed his questioning expression.

"The chains are invisible…covered by the illusion. And…and they are magical…they prevent me from casting my own spells. And they maintain the illusion which is placed on me…You…you need the key. But…but it won't look like a key! There are a couple of commoners…across this chamber…Don't be fooled by the illusion, though…they are monsters! They have a sword which is actually my key…if you can get it from them, I can removed the chain and regain my normal form!"

Looking across the chamber, Argon could make out a faint silhouette of a couple of figures. He wasn't entirely sure of how much of this he believed, but as he himself had said…he didn't have anything better to do. _Might as well go with the flow_. He eyed the ogre again. This was followed by a shrug.

"Sure, why not? I'll get the sword."

"But please," Aerie implored, "please be careful! You…you can't trust anything you see, here!" He only waved a dismissing hand in return.

"Okay, but I seem to have this crazy hunch that I'll be fine."

He left her behind, and strolled across this room, following a path-like walkway. As he went along, he passed by a giant spider that was sobbing, and a grizzly bear that was belching. _Weirder and weirder_, he commented to himself with a grin, _just the way I like it_. At the other end, behind a column, sat two normal looking people, a man and a woman. They were doing nothing else, merely sitting, unmoving, unflinching, though they did watch his approach.

Argon didn't even speak to them. He walked right up to the first, the man, and stabbed him right in the head, no questions asked. The expression and sound it made were delightful, a hoarse squalling, as it shrieked, letting out its last breath. The second only had enough time to rise up to its feet, and lift its fists, before its head was sliced off, rolling to the floor, the stump of a neck shooting a river of blood everywhere, there being even a splurting sound..

The moment they expired, the illusions over them evaporated, revealing heavy ugly brutes, like orcs. One was grasping the hilt of a sword, a curvy almost ridiculous type of blade, one that could never be properly wielded in combat. Most likely it was a decoration, or perhaps even…a key.

Relieving the corpse of it, Argon went back to where the ogre was waiting. If his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, then he'd have to say that it was fidgeting nervously. That was something he'd never seen before. An ogre fidgeting. At his return, seeing him grasping the impractical sword, the ogre gave a most foul smile, its expression lightening.

"You…you have the key! Or rather…the sword! Please…please give it to me and I can be rid of this illusionary form at last!" To most anyone, the request of handing over any sort of weapon to a giant ogre, even though its voice was rather sweet and innocent, probably wasn't a wise idea. But Argon was too curious to be cautious, wondering what was true, and what was fake. In a world of illusions, that always is the ultimate question. And besides that, he wasn't too worried about being able to handle any trouble that came his way.

Without even answering he offered the sword. The beast took it, and almost at once, there was a violent jolt in the monster, as its skin began to dissolve, becoming wisps of mist, vanishing. It did not take long for this haze to disperse, and standing where the massive colossal creature had been standing only moments before, was now occupied by another figure, one far shorter, one far thinner, and one far more beautiful.

A young elven girl, with lovely blonde hair ran down her thin shoulders. Two eyes, a light crystal blue, and with the inquisitiveness and cautiousness of a rabbit. Her features, as was common with elves, male or female, were perfect, as if crafted by a master sculptor, high cheek bones, cute little nose, lush exquisite lips, and a sweet heartwarming smile. She was wearing a robe of a bright yellow color, with a sash of orange, and though the dress was bulky somewhat, her jaw dropping figure was still visible, being most pleasing for the eyes.

She was staring down at herself in wonderment, running a hand across her thin arm.

"My…my hands…" she stammered, but with a joyful tone, and almost tears in her striking eyes, "My skin...it's real again! Thank Baervar! Oh," she looked around, and saw Argon watching her, he having a rueful smile on his face, examining her as well. He enjoyed watching her return to the flesh, for nice flesh it was. "We must find Quayle, and stop Kalah before he does any more harm!"

"Whoa now, little girl," he slowed her down, stepping up, towering over her slight frame, "Who's _we_? You stay here, and I'll go have a chat with this Kalah. It's a crime against the world for him to have turned someone so beautiful into something so unnatural." Despite the flattering comment, Aerie clasped her hands, and her eyes took on an almost irresistible, and no doubt rehearsed beseeching quality about them.

"Oh please," she pleaded, "You _must_ let me come with you! I know a lot about this place, and I know magic too! Please, I want to help!" Argon wasn't going to argue further. He didn't like having people following him around, but a gorgeous woman? He'd have to be more insane than he already was to refuse. So, he figured he could make an exception.

"Alright, but if you want to tag along, then you listen to me. Just stay behind me, and keep your head down." Aerie nodded, then gestured to one of the many staircases leading upward.

"Kalah is at the top of this place, in a throne room. Quayle should be there too. Those stairs can get us there."

The two crossed the room, Argon pausing at the base of the stairwell, looking up. The steps stretched on quite a ways, they being hard to see in the shadows. He glanced behind at the girl, she looking frightened, but resolute in her course. As he was turning back to the front, his eyes caught something. It was white, long, and thin. So much so that it stood out, being a lively sort of white, in this otherwise drab environment.

Upon closer inspection, leaning against a wall, was a staff, as long as he was tall, quite thin, but very durable feeling. It looked almost as if it was constructed of bone itself, being very hard, but flexible. "Oh, now this is nice," he commented, Aerie peering around him, curious at what he found so practically fascinating, "I am _so_ taking this with me. Okay, come on; let's go pay our respects to the man upstairs."

Climbing stairs is never fun, especially when they seem to stretch onwards into infinity. Argon, even in his heavy plate metal armor, his new toy slung over his shoulder, was fine though, having an inhuman level of endurance. He could have kept going all day. Aerie though, was struggling. She not only was climbing, but having to keep pace with this gargantuan man, whose stride was far longer than her own, and whose pace was phenomenally faster.

However, before she could collapse, the stairs came to an end with a single door. Argon looked back, at the girl who was huffing and wheezing, trying to compose herself. He grinned. "Too much?" She gave her head a shake, but couldn't answer. He shrugged, and pushed the door open. Before he even stuck his head inside, he caught the unmistakable smell of dog.

Poking his head in, he could see numerous shapes, great hulking shapes, clamping around across the finely decorated and sumptuous room. Werewolves, and a good number of them too, easily a dozen or more.

"Haven't seen these things in a while. This will be fun." Aerie wiggled in under him, to get a view.

"They aren't real," she whispered to him, "They are illusions. If you acknowledge them, then they can hurt you. But if you ignore them, then they are harmless. Maybe we could sneak by them…" Argon looked round, craning his neck down at her. His expression clearly stated, _"What are you, crazy?"_ But what he said however, was different.

"Uh huh, that _could_ work, but let me try it my way first, and see what happens…okay?" Aerie nodded.

"I…I guess. But what are you going to do?" Argon flashed her…_the grin_. The crazy, wild sinister one; the same one he always got whenever he was about to go completely ballistic.

"I'm going to get Kalah's attention. Whatever happens…don't move. Stay here, and don't get noticed." Leaving her, Argon pushed the door open, and as bold as day, strutted into the room. He then let loose a shrill whistle, getting every occupant of the room to turn his way.

"Alright boys, line up. Let's see what you illusions can do against…the real thing." The werewolves were silent, staring at him with their fierce yellow eyes, some snorting air through their nostrils, others growling softly. Aerie watched this insanity, now shaking, at how this man had simply gotten their attention without even trying to be stealthy. He was as good as dead.

With a group howl, and a deafening amount of snarling and barking, fifteen werewolves came charging towards him, their claws extended, mouths open, leaving trails of saliva behind, their teeth all but straining for a bite. Argon's motion was fluid and quick. Drawing his sword would have been the fastest way to solve this little problem, but he was eager to see his new weapon's limits. Whirling it over his head, he waited.

As they came into range, he swung the staff around him in an arc, there being cracks and crunches as the wolves' heads were smacked by the passing attack. The force of the blow sent many of them flying, sailing back the way they had come. This assault caught all but of three of them, these three now lunging inward, ready to fight in close quarters.

Argon may have been an expert swordsman now, but he had been raised on a quarterstaff, and he was an specialist with that long before he left Candlekeep. So holding three frenzied slashing monsters at bay was child's play. The staff was flashing like a white phantom, as he batted arms and teeth away, striking one in the gut, and then right on the neck, causing a snap.

The other group had by this time regained their feet, and had rushed once again. The way they charged, their tactics most likely would be to attempt to overbear him, dragging him to the floor, and attacking a prone target. These things being as supernaturally strong as they were, they could have very easily done that, had Argon let them. But he just wasn't in the mood to get mauled. He had better things to do.

Now, instead of fighting to defend, he began to fight to kill. One illusionary lycanthrope had already been dealt with, so fourteen was all that remained. His tactics got him to start retreating all around the room, the vicious and ferocious werewolves following. As one came into range, he would deliver a crushing blow to either its head of torso, followed by a fist on its chin or throat. With a gurgle and a splatter of illusionary blood, one by one, they fell.

In the ensuing chaos, the entire room was totaled, the carpets stained and torn, walls gouged, all furniture having been shattered and ground into dust. Finally, there were only two left in the room. Argon, looking none the worse for wear, and Aerie, who looked horrified at the most incredible display of fighting prowess, if not extreme violence, that she had ever bore witness too. It was just inexpressible.

"You're…you're alive…" she stammered, creeping out of the shadows, looking up at this armored mountain, "How…how did you manage to do that? There were so many of them…and you don't even have a scratch…" Argon examined himself.

"Yeah well, illusions aren't nearly as tough as the real things. Now that they're gone, let's go. Onward and upward." And off he went, leaving Aerie still considerably stunned. She quickly followed him. The room only had one visible exit, another set of stairs, this one winding upwards. The two began to climb, this one proving to be significantly shorter than the last. It emptied into a small rounded chamber. Inside which, were many numerous strange and outlandish sights.

Sitting in a throne smack in the middle of the room, was yet another grotesque form. Another ogre by the looks, but a different sort, wearing more elaborate dress and effects. An ogre mage. Surrounding this monstrosity, were three more werewolves, as well as along the entire wall of the place were shadows that were creeping along, circling about like vultures. Off in one corner, there was a green puddle of viscous slime, bubbling and quivering, as if it was alive.

As Aerie and Argon stepped inside, the door swung shut behind them, and the ogre stood off the throne, clapping his gloved hands, displaying a smile that could have made stone scream in revulsion.

"Well done, my friend! Truly, I doubted you would survive to meet me. Welcome to my realm. I regret that my hospitality will result in your deaths." Argon at once hated this person; no doubt this was the Kalah he had heard so much about. The ogre form was merely an illusion, much like Aerie, an attempt to overpersonify his so-called greatness. And it was that sort of attitude that this freak was conveying that _really_ got under Argon's skin. The smug self-superiority over others, the nauseating self-assuredness of victory always made him pissed.

True enough, he usually put off that same manner himself, but at least he had perfectly good reason for doing so. He was after all, a near perfect instrument of violence and destruction, and just about everyone knew it. He resolved to kill this arrogant bastard at once. Kalah meanwhile, while still smirking conceitedly, whipped his head at the minions behind him.

"At them my shadows!" he barked with hilarity "If he be a fool; my other beasts shall strike him down. If not, the task will fall to you, my shades. The circus now truly begins!"

"Oh, shut up!" was all Argon said in return. His arm was already raised, holding the white staff like a javelin, ready to throw. Kalah's minions had already begun to steadily slither out to attack, but froze at this comment. Kalah himself saw this, and his hideous face turned into one of panic. He realized a few moments too late that he was as good as dead.

Argon didn't even bother to wind his arm up, and he simply hurled that staff straight for his target. Because the ogre form was so very large, it was next to impossible to miss. He didn't miss, the makeshift spear running straight through him, sticking half out of his chest, while the other half was protruding from his back.

"_NOOOOOOO!"_ Kalah wailed in agony, as everything around everyone started to fade to blackness and mist. In but mere moments, the lights returned. The illusionary castle, masquerades, and creatures had all vanished. They were all now standing in a lively tent, with games, animals, and at least twenty startled and bewildered looking commoners. Argon still stood poised, after his throw, and turned his gaze around. Aerie was right behind him, her expression being the same as everyone else.

Where the puddle of goo have been, now stood a gnome, dressed in a purple waistcoat, complete with a long white beard, and spectacles. And where the ogre mage had been gloating, another gnome was lying on the ground, a basic wood quarterstaff still protruding from him midsection. Argon straightened, and advanced. Kalah was rapidly fading, but still alive enough to writhe for a few moments, coughing up blood, as well as his last words in a croaking groaning voice.

"This wasn't what was supposed to happen! This wasn't what was promised to me!" His wild watery eyes, also filling up with blood swiveled upward, meeting the cold and yet elated black stare aimed down at his corpse-to-be. "I have…planned this for too long…only to have my plans shattered by some inbred northern adventurer! I…I just wanted to be respected." After another mouthful of blood splashed past his lips, he directed a wrathfully pitiful glare towards Argon. "You've…you've killed me…destroyed Kalah with you misplaced morals and your beastly greed for adventure…" Argon knelt beside the rapidly dying gnome.

"What? Are you waiting for me to say I'm sorry? Really, I should make sure you don't die now, just so I could kill you again. You asked for this when you started this trouble, and now you whine. What did you expect? You blame me for your own inferiority…I was merely doing what I do best. I hope you enjoy Hell maggot."

"You don't understand, do you? You take my life, but worse, you take my dignity. I just wanted…I wanted to be the king instead of…instead of…" As his words trailed off, he let loose one or two more gurgles, and let out one final breath, before he died. Argon rose, and gave the fallen gnome a strong kick on the side of the head, shattering his neck.

"And taking your dignity made it all the more fun." Then, he turned his attention back to everyone else. Most of the people realizing that they had been freed, had made a mad dash for the tent exit, eager to get the hell out of there. Aerie had run over to Quayle, who was regaining his feet, looking a bit out of it.

"Uncle Quayle," she explained, her beautiful face beaming with happiness, "You're okay!"

"Yes my dear, I'm fine. I knew that Kalah would trip over his own feet eventually. I'm just thankful that he hated me enough to keep me alive and torture, rather than kill me outright like the others. But what in the world happened?" It was then that he noticed the immense shadow hovering over Aerie, and he looked up. He looked the Bhaalspawn right square in the eyes, remaining calm for a moment, but then, a sudden burst of alarm broke through, and he tried to jump to his feet, and pull Aerie away at the same time.

Argon had seen that look before, from those who recognized him. This gnome knew him, that was clear. But also, Argon knew this gnome too. He had met him back in Baldur's Gate, and had nearly killed the little fellow after getting on his wrong side by pestering him on the road. Judging from his reaction, he still harbored some ill feelings.

"Get back Aerie," he shouted, trying to pull her behind him. Aerie was startled and shocked at the sudden pulling and was somewhat alarmed by the fearful expression of her guardian.

"Uncle Quayle, what in the world is wrong?"

"Yes Uncle Quayle," Argon all but cooed, "What _is_ wrong? Is that anyway to greet an old acquaintance? I see _you_ remember our meeting. How long has it been?"

"Not long enough, you psychotic abomination! I don't know why you are here now, or what part you have played in this, but leave us alone! You were less than gracious with me last time, without reason! I'll not have you hurt Aerie now!" Aerie meanwhile, was still reeling.

"But Uncle Quayle, he's the one who saved us all! He beat Kalah, and released me from my illusionary chains. If it hadn't been for him, we'd still be under the spell." Quayle turned a distrusting glare at Argon, his angry face not softening in the slightest. Argon was toying with the idea of killing the gnome, finishing the job he started back at Baldur's Gate, but he didn't want to just now. Soon, but now wasn't the time.

"So…I guess I shouldn't wait around from a thank you, huh? Well then, I'll be on my way. Nice seeing your smiling face." He then gave Aerie a wink and a somewhat cheery smile, "See you around kid." And as cool as ice, he turned, and walked out of the circus tent.

Outside, everyone that had been trapped inside were being smothered by their worried loved ones, while others were receiving tongue-lashings. Argon wondered what the best way would be to kill them. A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Wait! Please wait!" Looking around, Aerie came rushing up to him. "I'm very sorry about Quayle, but he's been through a lot. Did you really know him from somewhere else?"

"You could say that…a passing acquaintance really."

"Oh. I…I just wanted to thank you myself. Without you, we most likely would have died. I'm in your debt." He waved it off.

"It wasn't anything special, believe me. I do things like that all the time. Comes with the territory."

"Well, I hope I'll see you again. Quayle has asked me to run across town to deliver a message for him. Please, feel free to drop by the circus anytime." He nodded. "Maybe I will." And with that, Aerie went dashing off, heading for one of the promenade exits. With that matter concluded, Argon still hadn't satisfied himself yet. His desire for pain and suffering had been postponed to save the circus. But then…it came to him, in a stroke of genius.

He lifted his hands to his mouth, and called out, "Attention all!" Many, many people nearby heard him, and gathered round. "The situation in the circus has been resolved. You are free to come and go at your own leisure. And to apologize, the manager has informed me that all games and attractions will be free for the remainder of the day, as well as each couple that goes in shall receive ten gold coins as a token of our regret! Please enjoy!" At this announcement, a whole stampede of people went rushing towards the tent, in frenzied excitement. A number of these people had only just stepped out moments ago.

"Morons." Over forty people responded, more than enough. When the last entered, Argon meandered over, shut the flaps, and tied them into knots. Nearby were several torches hanging from poles, circling around the area. Snapping one of these poles was easy enough, and he hurled the flame atop the circus tent. It caught at once, spreading wickedly fast. In mere moments, the whole roof was on fire.

On cue, the people inside began screaming in terror, as the prospect of being burned alive was scary indeed, and tried to rush for the exit, only to find it shut tight. Argon watched as it slowly burned, but soon grew bored. The wailing shrieks were enjoyable, and the thoughts of mountains of charred corpses afterwards warmed his heart, but what he really wanted was some blood. Argon turned away, leaving the trapped populous to their fiery end, and went searching for fresh blood.


	7. The Three Favorite Things

**Chapter 7:** The Three Favorite Things

Argon left the fiery inferno that had only recently been the circus, and went on his way. Of course, even in the midst of this mayhem, not to mention the mayhem to come, beyond even his usual desire for carnage, there was still that lingering feeling. In the back of his mind, he knew what he was after.

He did indeed want Irenicus, wishing to disembowel him in a brutal fashion, and then to revel in the joy of the kill. However, his thief counterpart had only run off a short time ago, so the chances were slim that if he went to the docks now, his answers wouldn't be there waiting for him yet. _Plenty of time for that,_ he said to himself, _First things first. I think I'll stroll around the town, see what ruckus I can kick up. _

Before he left however, he realized that he was rather hungry. Bhaalspawn though he may have been, even he required sustenance to keep him going. Rooting through his backpack didn't yield too many results, save a small bag of seeds. He vaguely remembered that he was supposed to do something with them, but now, he didn't really care.

"Might as well try them," he muttered. Thus, he took a handful of the seeds, and began to crunch them. They didn't taste very good, rather hard with an almost wooden-like flavor. "Bleh…so much for those…" and without hesitation, casually threw them into a refuse bin nearby. "Time to get some real chow." Not far off he spied an inn, with the sounds of merrymaking and fun within. He chose to go there, with ambitions to eat and kill. Perhaps two of his three favorite things.

Inside was the typical inn establishment, a bartender doubling as an innkeeper, numerous tables and chairs with people drinking and dining. There were of course the usual methods of entertainment. Some musicians, a bard or two, attractive women slipping from one table to the next, things like that. It was dim inside, and fairly crowded, much to Argon's satisfaction. He pulled up a chair sitting his enormous weight down at an empty table, cloaked in shadows. After a few moments, a pretty serving girl, perhaps the same age as Argon himself, came over smiling sweetly.

"Good afternoon sir, what can I get for you today?" Argon had a couple of things in mind, but again, first things first.

"Well, I haven't had a good stiff drink in while. Not to mention, I don't think I've really eaten anything decent for weeks…So just bring me a big pitcher of something strong, and a large piece of meat. That'll do…" The girl nodded, bowed and went off. Argon watched her go, tilting his head to observe her every angle. He liked what he saw. Whilst he waited, he sat silently, watching other people come and go, eavesdropping on nearby conversations. Nothing too noteworthy, most of the comments were drunks whining about their petty problems; bad wages, taxes, their no-good wives, and all that. A few things did catch his ear though.

Apparently, there were some strange murders in the Bridge District, people being skinned alive or some such thing. Another rumor was talk of some rival thieves' guild rising to challenge the Shadow Thieves. Not that these appealed to Argon to any real extent, but as he knew, it was good to keep informed. He was always on the lookout for an excuse to shed blood. Matters like that usually always ended with such things.

As he was listening to some poor sap complaining about how his wife had cheated on him with some lowlife fisherman, the cute waitress returned with a large mug filled with a dark liquid, complete with a heavenly stench that Argon had sorely missed. In her other hand was a metal tray with a huge side of beef, or something just like it. It smelled simply tantalizing.

Argon gave her his charming wolf smile, and lifted an eyebrow, causing her to blush, and bow before leaving him to his business. Which he took care of, drinking his liquor down in vast mouthfuls, savoring the burning taste. The meat was a little dry, but after eating things that had been half covered with mold for who knows how long, one didn't hear him complaining. Once he was done feeling very satisfied, he leaned back in his chair, and stretched. Before long, the girl came back over, probably to leave the bill. He had other ideas.

"How was it sir?" she inquired lightly. To which he answered, "Delicious."

"I'm glad you liked it. Will there be anything else?"

"As a matter of fact…yes…there is…" So saying, he reached out, and slid one giant hand around the girls petite waist, puling her closer. She gasped at this, her face flushing. "What are you…" was all she said. Argon eased her down, having her sit in his immense lap. "I have a feeling that all that food cost quite a bit. Tell me, how much do _you_ cost?" At this, her whole face turned scarlet, and tried to gently pull away. Argon wasn't letting go.

"Please, that's flattering but embarrassing," she tried to tell him, looking in another direction, "I…I'm really…" But he silenced her with a chuckle.

"Oh, I don't know about that." One of his hands reached up, and turned her face back towards him, reestablishing eye contact. That was important. Over the years, he found that women staring right into those black eyes of his had lost all resolve and willpower; their free will almost seemed to have been sapped from them. Judging from this girl's increasingly lax expression, it seemed to be working. But just to be on the safe side, he decided to use another method of persuading as well. One of his hands was around the hem of her skirt, and as stealthily as any serpent, he slithered it up her legs, rising higher and higher.

She felt this, her face almost totally red now, squirming where she sat, hugging her elbows, as if trying to keep a hold of herself. She seemed to be losing her grip. "So," he asked her, giving that sly grin again. "How about we go somewhere else…Just you and me?" As his exploring hand found something interesting and worthwhile to touch, the girl was shuddering, and almost panting now. To which Argon said once again, "Delicious." That must have been the deciding factor.

She brought her mouth over to his ear, and harshly whispered, "Upstairs…" He nodded, and let her regain her feet. "I'll be right up." She gave a nervous giggle, and sort of staggered towards the nearby staircase. As she was leaving, Argon couldn't help but congratulate himself. _Hah, I still got it._

As he leisurely rose to partake in yet another of his favorite activities, he noticed a bard on stage, strumming a lute, singing in a cracked high voice, about some ancient story that no one cared anything about. It was irritating. Before he left, he picked up his mug, finishing off what little drink there was left, and more or less hurled that metal pitcher right into the bard's head, colliding with a sharp clang, and a distinct snapping sound. The bard fell from his stool, his lute hitting the floor, striking a cord.

"Best thing he's played all day," and up the stairs we went. There were only two rooms upstairs, this inn being a small establishment. One of which was filled with these weird looking men, skinny to the point of sickly with bald heads and pale skin. It was the occupant of the _other_ room that he was interested in. As he opened the door, the serving girl rose from the bed, still trembling all over.

As Argon walked in, shut the door, and locked it behind him, she gave him a shy smile, still obviously fidgety. Without saying anything, she slid out of her dress, letting it hit the floor, giving Argon a full unobstructed view, much to his satisfaction. "Shall we?" he inquired, setting aside his weapon, advancing. She nodded.

_Later…_

It was perhaps an hour or so later when Argon felt that twinge of desire inside of him again. Not the same kind as before, the pent up need for carnal pleasures. His new woman had certainly aided him in that department. No, now he wanted to see red, and hear those familiar screams. It was a call that was too great. He glanced next to him. The girl was still asleep, a smile on her face. No doubt she had enjoyed it as much as he.

_Hope you had gotten your fill,_ he said to himself_, because you're probably never gonna have anything like that again._ Normally, whenever he had enjoyed a woman's company, he would part ways by sending them to the next life. This time, he just didn't feel like it. Besides, there were loads of people just downstairs, worthless ants of men that were just waiting to be smashed and crushed beneath his mighty boot.

"Count your blessings…This time you leave alive. For your sake, I hope you don't come downstairs for the next five minutes." Whether she heard him or not in her sleep was unsure, but Argon wasn't going to wait any longer. Times a wasting.

Silently as a shadow, he rose, replacing his armor, securing his helm and sword, stole one last look back at his sleeping girl, and headed back down. As he was descending, someone was coming up. He was a young guy, a lowly peasant by the looks of his clothes, a real pretty boy, blonde hair, blue eyes, a boyish face and a real pissy attitude.

"You must be him," he sputtered as he caught sight of Argon, looking rather angry, "The big guy! Where is she? Where is my Jeina?"

"You mean that pretty waitress? She's upstairs sleeping. Wore her out I guess…"

"You…_you beast_! She is my finance! How dare you deflower her! A sweet caring woman like her! You robbed her of her innocence! Have you no shame?"

"She was a virgin?" Argon asked aloud, more to himself, "Alright…bonus."

"_WHAT!_ You're a…a savage monster! Such vulgarity knows no bounds! We were to be wed in two weeks…_TWO WEEKS_ and she had promised to be pure for the ceremony! It was her wish! How can she live with that now?"

"Seems to me that she wasn't guarding it quite as well as you claim. It sure didn't take a lot of convincing to get her into the sack. Guess she needed a real man. Besides, I think I've done her a favor. Saves her from having to marry an imbecile like you."

"You insult _me_ now?! Why…I'm going to…"

"Look at the facts here," Argon explained, grinning down at him, "You're some shrimpy little farm boy, and you're picking a fight with someone who is three times your size…You clearly don't have any sense at all." This young boy seemed to suddenly become aware of the difference in their stature. He might have been tall somewhat, but he was skinny and wiry. This man however was a human mountain, solid as stone. Argon's grin turned almost ferocious, as he seized the kid up with a free arm.

"So long," was all the farewell he gave him, and with one strong throw, the hapless boy went sailing back down the stairs, a long drop, landing on his back atop a table, causing it to shatter. There was also a telltale sound of some bone being broken, causing him to yell in agony.

Hardly anyone in the downstairs room paid any attention. Argon came down the rest of the way, and strolled over to the prone farm boy. His back was most likely broken, meaning he would never move again. However, Argon wasn't one to leave things at that. He lifted his boot, and slammed it down on the poor kid's face, with enough force to grind stone to dust. Needless to say, when he lifted his foot, his face was almost completely unrecognizable.

"Hey there," the innkeep called, his voice upset, but with no small amount of fright, "I don't tolerate that sort of behavior here! I suggest that you…" Argon had a proper response. He lifted up an intact table and chucked it across the room, crashing against the bar. The innkeep ducked, as fragments of wood fell every which way. Having drawn blood, Argon entered that famous bloodthirsty Bhaalspawn lust, a need to butcher all around him.

He started with the drunks, using his sword to hack men to pieces, most of whom were far too inebriated to realize what was happening. Not only did he kill, but he tore the place apart as he went along, crushing furniture, gouging up the walls, just causing havoc. Then came the fun part. The people that weren't too drunk to not understand what was going on. The people that were loosing their bladders and screaming in fear.

The barkeep, and a dozen or so patrons were running for the back of the establishment, as if the distance would stop him. There was no stopping him now. He had started, and he wasn't going to quit until there was _nothing_ left. He followed, tearing down doors, crushing all that obstructed him. He finally cornered them in the back kitchen, the cooks having no idea what was going on. Nearly twenty people had their backs to the wall, as he stalked into the room, smiling with a murderous expression, eyes wide and all but glowing with darkness.

They screamed for help, but none came. Here, he didn't even use his sword. He used his mighty hands, his raw physical power to mercilessly pummel the helpless masses into vague humanoid remains, bloodied and torn to pieces. By the time he was done, the room was coated in blood, pools all over the floor, and not a soul was left standing, save the Bhaalspawn.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes bulging, still grinning madly, he too soaked almost down to his skin. He felt alive, he felt animated, he felt _so_ good. To him, nothing at all matched the ecstasy of mass carnage and to rejoice in the blood filled victory. Nothing. And that wasn't over.

As he emerged into the front of the inn, the front door had been busted down, and a small platoon of Amnish guards was present, no doubt having been drawn by the cries for help. Now, having answered the call, they were all paralyzed with revulsion and terror. They were scanning the brutal carnage and unspeakable horror that was just inside, a whole slew of dead drunks, hewed to pieces and scorched beyond identification. There they caught sight of the only living person, the towering armored hulk, covered with blood, a wild and maniacal sneer on his face, silently laughing at their misfortune.

"You there," one called, noticeably shaken, "Drop your sword and surrender at once!"

"No." Not really expecting such a blatant refusal in a situation as this, the man in charge gulped, steeling himself for what was to come.

"Very well. Men, this fiend doesn't deserve to be taken alive. We shall exact justice here and now! At him!" But before they could advance, Argon made the first move. Roaring like a beast from Hell, he drew his flaming swords, and stampeded towards them, ready to slaughter. Caught unprepared, he slammed deep into their ranks, his blade slicing through the abdomen of one soldier, the neck of another, the top of the head of another, and right down the middle of another.

The few that remained attempted to block any further attacks, but their plain wooden spears were laughable weapons at best, the magical sword splintered them all, and charring them like kindling, before digging deep into the remaining troops bodily parts. It was a quite massacre indeed.

But with no more people to kill, Argon at last began to settle down. His eyes came back to their normal black, he caught his breath, and he could once again think coherently. The first thing he did was to gaze back at his handiwork. "Ah…I needed that. Now then, lets see if I can't see if there is some more fun to dig up." He felt so much better after his trip to the inn. After all, he had gotten access to his three favorite of things. Food, sex, and killing. He just couldn't get enough of them. But now it was time to move on.

He exited the inn, still covered in blood, and decided to hunt for the exit to the Promenade. He walked through one of the many arches, his gore-soaked appearance turning heads, and causing many people to not so discretely flee in the opposite direction. Argon was ready to explore Athkatla a bit more, but there was a tiny problem. He hadn't ever been there before, so he wasn't sure of the city's layout. He wasn't one to hire a guide, so he opted to ask for directions.

He spied an Amnish guard at one of the exits to the Promenade, all by himself, who was watching Argon from a distance. Perhaps he thought he looked like a suspicious character. Whatever could have made him think such a thing? As the blood-covered giant approach, he began to fidget. One must applaud the man for his nerves, as he tried to keep his composure. "What is it…citizen?"

"Sorry to bother, but I was just thinking, what with you being a guard around here, that you might know the layout of the city enough to give me some bearings?"

"I'm a sentry not a signpost. I have other things to do than give out directions." Argon merely gave him a raised eyebrow, his face hardening. Sensing that irritating a gargantuan man covered in blood was not a real wise decision, the watchman intelligently decided to change his mind. "But…since you're new here, I guess I can answer. What are you looking for?" A good question, Argon wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Did he want rich or poor? It didn't really matter to him, killing one was nearly the same as killing another. Of course, rich jerks tended to whine more.

"What part of this city is the most decrepit? The lowest of the low?"

"That would be the Slums. Just to the west of here. The most vulgarity and infidelity that this whole capital has to offer. I'd steer clear of it altogether if I were you. Nothing but thieves, murderers, and bums."

"I see. And what about just the opposite of that? Where are all the rich pompous assholes located?"

"Yes…ahem, you must mean the…the nobles. Well, several of them are located in the Government District, just to the north of here. Of course, you'll have to cross through the Bridge District to get there, and that'd be something else I'd avoid. There's been some trouble up there lately I hear."

"Hmm, might be worth checking out. But I think you've sparked my interest with the Slums. Sounds like a charming place. You can't beat them."

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. By the way, and I hate to be…well, nosy, but where did all that blood come fro…" Argon didn't let him finish his question, and nonchalantly backhanded the guardsman, the force of the blow twisting his neck, enough to cause it to snap. He collapsed in a pile with a crash. "Thanks for the info little buddy. I guess I'm off."


	8. Hail To You, Fellow Butcher!

**Chapter 8:** Hail to You, Fellow Butcher!

Athkatla was a most peculiar city in the way that it was designed. Instead of having several large main roads and tunnels connecting each sector of the city to another, it made use of the back alleyways instead. Countless little passages between houses, weaving in and out and twisting around, leading one through a warren of corridors served as the primary means of traversing from one place to another. To travel through these alley's did not seem very wise, for they were cramped and shadowy, the sorts of places that muggers and thieves would lie in wait, pouncing upon someone unlucky enough to be unskilled at fighting, or not having a bodyguard.

Argon was not too worried about his safety. And probably because of his daunting form, if there had been any would-be robbers there, not a one of them dared step out to try and rob him. In a way, he wished that they at least attempted so that he might kill them, but also, such petty crooks were so far beneath him, stomping them into jelly would have been shameful, soiling himself with such milquetoasts.

As he went along, the homes and business that made up the majority of structures of the city began to grow noticeably more and more dilapidated and battered, a clear indication that he was closing in on the Slums. Naturally, there wasn't exactly a large sign that proclaims to travelers, "Now Entering: The Slums!" That would be in rather poor taste. Eventually, the numerous beggers in the streets, the voices of staggering drunks, the sunken-eyed merchants with broken dreams, and the packs of wild animals which roamed free were all signs of his arrival.

Pausing his stride, Argon looked around. A true slum in every respect, each necessary element to make it so was all there. A sullen forlorn atmosphere, an almost visible stench permeating the air, and the feelings of despair and hopelessness seemed to be oozing from every living creature. For the people who inhabited this repulsive place looked nearly half-dead, exhausted after days of working at their menial jobs, not to mention succumbing to the damning realization that they shall never escape this place, this miserable insight sapping all of their spirit. It was demoralizing and sorrowful to all who looked upon this place. Except for one.

Argon couldn't have been happier, finding this new atmosphere encouraging. There was so much misery around him; he could taste it. Chances were that he probably could have set up shop as an executioner for hire in this place. And it was a good bet that he would be plenty busy.

"Tempting," he mused, but a ray of sunlight in his eyes broke him free from that enticing vision. The sun was setting, creeping behind the crumpled rooftops, the sky a brilliant crimson, as if heralding its departure with a well-rehearsed fanfare. Night was coming with haste, as he had emerged from the dungeon after midday, and all of his amusements after his escape had held his attention for the remainder of the day. Now, with things winding down, it was time to stop.

"Guess I got to hole up somewhere…" Passing by him was a gnome, wearing tatters, swaying wildly as he walked.

"Hey gnome, where's a decent place to sleep around this dump?" The gnome did not seem to hear, merely going on with an almost drugged vacant expression. It was tempting to kill him for his disregarding demeanor, but leaving him to his worthless life was far more terrible than a gruesome death, even if it was a little less fun. Argon instead shrugged, and just kept walking.

After some wandering, he came across a larger than average tavern and inn. The Copper Coronet, a name that even Argon had heard of despite having never been to Amn before. A famous tavern; though infamous was probably closer to the truth; a dive sure enough, but always filled with all sorts of crazed characters and interesting tales. A place a man like Argon was sure to fit in. He was staring up at the sign when two men walked passed, one with a noticeable attitude.

"Out of my way, you there!" and some mercenary thug shoved passed Argon. Trotting at his heels was a halfling, dressed for stealth work.

"Calm down Cohrvale. Mr. F. don't like you killin' people in the streets." Not liking to be chastised by his small companion, the mercenary thug, Cohrvale most likely, gave him a scowl and a curled lip sneer.

"Shut your mouth dwarf. And as for you…" turning now to stare up at Argon, who was merely staring back, "Move aside!" It was really something; Argon was a head and a half taller than this imbecile, and three times the girth, dried blood across his armor and exposed skin, with a big sword attached to his waist, and this man had the lack of brains to act bossy with him. Not smart at all.

"I'm sorry," he apologized gently, leaning down, giving that devious smile of his, "Not quite sure I heard you. Perhaps you could open your mouth a bit wider this time…" Cohrvale seemed to have as much of a sense of humor as he had rational intelligence, for his beefy face grew red, obviously letting his undoubtedly short temper take control.

"That's it, now you're gonna get dead!"

The halfling cursed, pulling a short sword out, "Blasted fool! Can't you see he's armed?" Regardless, Cohrvale brought out a bastard sword, and made a wild attack. Argon seized the descending blade, snatching it with his bare hand, and held it off. Stunned was Cohrvale, his blow being repelled so easily. In one motion, Argon's free fist plowed into the goon's somewhat soggy midsection, making the chain mail he wore all but meaningless. Having all the air sucked from his body, Cohrvale lost his hold on his sword, and sank to his knees gasping.

Argon turned the sword around and casually stabbed the long point into his kneeling opponent's skull, piercing his head. There was a grating sound from behind, as the little attacker was trying desperately to cut through the enchanted armor. He really oughtn't to have done that. Remembering that there had been two, Argon pulled the plain sword free of the corpse, and quickly cleaved the halfling's head in twain. He fell dead and that was that.

"They just keep lining up to die. How nice of them." Rifling through their pockets yielding a surprisingly large quantity of gold, which Argon took with a salute. "Don't worry boys, I'll put this to very good use." With that, he turned and entered the much-famed Copper Coronet.

Inside was the precise atmosphere that one would expect a shady ill-famed place like that would have. A large crowded sitting room, with a massive hearth dominating the center where meat and other foods were slowing being cooked on a mammoth grill. All around this were tables with drunks and other patrons, none of which looked to remarkable, the typical surly lot, coming to submerge their woes in liquor, to temporarily wash away the grim that is their lives.

There was a staircase near the rear, guarded by one of many sentries posted throughout the place, looking beady-eyed and grumpy. Along one wall were several boxes and other stored items, and far off on the other end of the main room was the counter, where the innkeeper and bartender probably made their business transactions.

Scanning the occupants of the room, Argon was somewhat displeased that there were only a few warrior types in there, maybe three or four at best. Causing a ruckus with so few wasn't really worth it. Sure, he could kill the drunks, but that just wasn't as satisfying as murdering someone who can fight back. That's half the thrill right there.

Argon decided to start killing later, perhaps when more people came in. So, to quell his rising boredom, he wanted to see if there was anyone interesting to talk with in the place. Even he, on the rare occasion enjoyed just sitting down with an entertaining character, and just chew the fat with them. With any luck, they'd end with him getting some beautiful woman in the sack or even better perhaps, a fight.

There were a couple of stairs leading from the door down, and he descended, getting several observant looks as he passed. The wooden floor of the place seemed to quake with his steps. Not surprising. And also not surprising is that some moronic fool wanted to test his own strength by challenging him, boasting with out-of-line and brash comments.

"Looky 'ere boys," a half-drunken local came up, slurring his words, "Some huge gorilla dressed up for…hic…adventure. Ain't he a sight?" Looking around, Argon saw a squat ugly man, with an unkempt beard, and an aura of rankness that made him repellant even to the flies. Behind him were two goons, yucking it up, slapping the mouthy one on the back.

"Ha, you tell him Amalas!"

"Yah, you're the man Amalas!"

"I sure am. An' you, ya towerin' freak, you'll better watch ya step 'round 'ere, lest I have to teach you a lesson."

Normally acknowledging such petty hoodlums was beneath even average adventurers, thus they were _far_ beneath Argon's station. Still, he disliked the leader and felt the desire to make him dead. Without even pausing, he reached out quick as you please, and wrapped his enormous hand around the drunken idiot's head, grasping it like a large stone, and lifted him off the ground. Amalas at once started screaming, kicking and thrashing. His two lackeys at once quit their cheering for their inebriated leader, and shrank back, fear at last emerging on their faces. A bit too late.

Argon's grip was incredible, enough to shatter a regular man's fingers in a routine handshake, and he was currently applying that amazing force to Amalas's head, who was hollering something awful. He kept pressing, harder and harder, until there came a light crack, followed by another, no doubt his puny skull beneath was beginning to buckle under the unrelenting pressure. Blood began to trickle out of his ears and out of his eyes.

"And…" Argon shrugged, and suddenly applied his absolute maximum gripping power in one surge of strength, "You're dead." Amalas's head caved in with a gut-turning display, blood and shards of bone came spilling to the floor, accompanied by the most nauseating of audio effects, a squelch and crunch. Argon released the ruined mass, and wiped his hand on the wooden wall to clean it of foreign matter, as he went on about his business. At this sight, many people at once fled.

Getting a room at a dump like this wouldn't be too hard; of course it wasn't going to be the best of accommodations. Still, with his awesome powers of persuasion, he could certainly get whatever he wanted here, no questions asked. First thing…talk with the innkeeper. Whoever that was. As he passed a nearby guard, he leaned over.

"Say, you mind pointing me in the direction of the boss around here?" The guards were normally a cantankerous lot, always pissed off and quick to anger, but after what the man had just witnessed this colossal giant do, there was _no way_ in the nine hells he was going to risk his life on _that_ gamble.

"Over there," he gulped, gestured to a hunched fellow sitting behind the bar, eyeing the occupants. "He owns the place. That's Lehtinan. He'll set you up."

"Thanks for that." Argon gave the man an evil stare, the guard growing even more terrified, withdrawing into his armor, teeth clacking together. Leaving the cowering sentry to his cowering, Argon approached the bar, looking at the host of this charming little place with scrutiny.

The owner Lehtinan was a queer looking man to say the least. Very narrow faced, with slit pale blue watery eyes, tight thin lips, a long beakish nose, and a slender pale frame. His crop of hair was light but was short, looking to be the sort guy that couldn't grow facial hair all that well. Not only that, but he seemed to be having a bit of a twitch problem. Not a nervous twitch, more like just an occasional spasm would course throughout his body.

And it was just eerie the way he would follow you with those nasty eyes of his, as was the way he talked. It was almost as if he had an incredible talent for salivating constantly, for every few moments between words, he would have to pause, and make these weird sucking and grunting noises to swallow down the excess spit. Vile.

"Well…hmm…hello. I can't ever recall seeing your…hmm…face in here before. Strangers aren't exactly…hurrm…welcome in these parts." Argon was easily three spans taller as he looked down at him.

"Not to be rude, but has anyone ever told you that you are a _seriously_ creepy bastard?" Despite the unfavorable remark, Lehtinan strangely smiled, and shrugged.  
"I've heard such things…humm…before. Some people are a little…hurrrmm…put out by my manner."

"Clearly. Anyway, you said strangers aren't welcome here…What about rich strangers?" Argon pulled out the money he had stolen from the two thugs outside the Coronet. Lehtinan inhaled through his nose in a hissing whisper, squinting at the flashes of gold. This was followed by a sickly smile.

"Hurmm…Coin is…always…welcome. You will find the Copper Coronet able to fulfill you needs; whether drink, rest, or other sorts…of entertainment…hurrrm."

"Hmm, I do believe you have raised my curiosity somewhat…What entertainment are you referring to, might I inquire?"

"Oh…hueem…one is always able to provide entertainment…hurrm…Things like companionship perhaps, or gambling on battles, and…other things."

"And how does one go about obtaining these…services? Care to point the way?" Lehtinan, despite being a freaky nutjob, wasn't an idiot. He knew better than to let just anyone into his backrooms, as his operations wouldn't be what could be called…legal. Letting the wrong person into the back could have some rather nasty repercussions. But this hulking behemoth didn't look or smell like trouble. At least in _that_ particular way. And the gold he had flashed was a sizable amount indeed…

"Hurrrm…hurrrmmm…Very well. You look like one who might…appreciate…such entertainment's. There is more to my little place than meets the eye."

"Figures…"

"Just speak to the men at the doors, and they will let you through. Please…enjoy yourself."

"I intend to." With that, the somewhat disturbing conversation ended. Argon didn't bring up the subject that he was probably going to leave without paying for any of that…entertainment, and probably kill the repulsive little prick as well, but for good reason obviously. That would have been bad manners.

Before he went into the backrooms for a little look, he wanted a drink. As he was heading towards the bar, a loud hearty voice caught his ear.

"Drink hail," it thundered, "Wassail for all!" Looking behind, Argon saw no one…At least until he glanced down. There, at his feet stood a dwarf, wearing dark armor, a helm, and with two nasty looking serrated battle-axes at his side. A dark silver beard poured down his face, soaked with slopped ale and booze, and he had a fair amount of dark maroon stains all across his attire, much like Argon.

"I be curious friend," the dwarf went on, now that he had the giants attention, "Ye look to be a mite finer warrior than most others occupying this rat's nest. Tell me lad, were ye the one who smashed that yak-faced dreg's head in?"

"That's me…"

"Aye! I thought so! I came over 'ere to congratulate ye on that! A fine piece of work it was, just crushin' his brains out with yer hand! Ye got the feel of a killer in ye, no doubt keeping undertakers in a brisk trade. 'Ave ye the courage and time fer a drink?"

This was rather unprecedented and refreshingly new for Argon. Not only was this dwarf inviting him for a drink, but someone was _complementing_ him on his gory display. That was something unusual, and quite frankly Argon didn't know how to react to it. Most people would be terrified of his murdering habits, for clear reasons, but no one had dared stay around long enough to applaud him for it.

Now, as was his nature, he would normally kill anyone who talked to him, or at the very least make a mental note to come back and kill them later, but…he was being praised for murdering? And by the look on this dwarf's face, he too was one to cleave some heads. Not to mention that his surly but aggressively cheerful attitude was something that Argon happened to like. And he was being offered a drink.

"Why not," he answered giving the dwarf a grin, "I'll have a drink."

"Aye, now ye speakin' me language! Come on over 'ere an' we'll chat a spell! Bernard, ye fat-bloated sack o' vomit! Get yer lazy ass over 'ere and get us some drinks."

Another bartender, Bernard, a stubby bald and chunky man came huffing up with two mugs, them both being snatched out of his chubby hands by the thirsty men.

"Put in on me tab," the dwarf instructed and raised a fist, threatening the frightened tapster away.

"Befere I get any more friendly with ye," the dwarf leaned forward, wiping foam from his beard, "I trust ye ain't some bleedin' heart sissy coward, are ye?" A funny question, as just looking into those terrible black eyes was more than enough answer, but Argon never made things that easy.

"And if I am?"

"Well, then I'd be forced ta split yer head open, and splatter yer insides across the walls. I can't stand those weakling quiverin' jellyfish! They make me want to puke me guts out all over the place!"

"Ha, then it's a good thing for me, since I don't care to see dwarf vomit at the moment. In the department of good…you have…_nothing_…to fear from me."

"Aye, that be a relief. I had a good feelin' 'bout ye, but a dwarf can't be too careful these days…never know who will turn into a weeping pansy next!" Argon raised his glass.

"That is certainly the truth, my fellow killer." They toasted, and drank down the rest of their cups. After a series of belching, the dwarf reached a hand across the table.

"Aye, me name be Korgan, by the way. Korgan Bloodaxe, the craziest, fiercest an' most bloody executioner to ever come out of the ground. I've left mountain's of corpses behind me, leavin' the ground a pleasin' color of red. I've yet to meet the man who has killed more than I!" At this, from across the table, Argon smiled, and shook Korgan's very strong hand.

"You sound quite renowned…But I'm afraid I know of someone who has killed more. A _lot_ more." The dwarf snorted.

"Me ass ye have! An' who might this mystery butcher be then?"

"You're looking at him."

"Oh aye," Korgan pressed, with clear cynicism in his words, "That so, is it? Then, that must mean that yer bleedin' _famous_ all along the Sword Coast, an' up to Waterdeep then, if yer really as wicked as ye are sayin'. Ye must be a mighty man indeed. What name do ye go by, O Scary Murdering Bastard?" Now it was the Bhaalspawn's turn to extend his mammoth hand, with that almost fanged grin of his.

"Argon." At this, Korgan halted, and stopped his grinning. It was clear that he was thinking hard, and studying the man across from him. Argon's face was rueful, but he didn't look like he was blowing smoke.

"If what ye say be true…" Korgan paused, before bursting out laughing, slapping his knees, "Then I be in the company of a true master of killin'! Why, even I've heard tales of Argon the Terrible, being some famous homicidal maniac that kills anything he happens upon…Course, if that be true, then why haven't ye started anythin' in here? Save that fool's head ye crushed like a grapefruit…Why haven't ye killed me?"

"Simple." Argon leaned forward, the darkness in his eyes burning ever brighter. "I happen to like your disposition Korgan. The first cutthroat that I've met that actually complemented me on my techniques of killing. I suppose even one such as me has a bit of vanity. And take a look around the room if you will…" The dwarf did just that, craning his neck about.

"An' I'm lookin' fer what exactly?"

"Well, do you see anyone _worth_ killing? All I see is a handful of gutless dregs, too drunk to even feel simple fear. There's nowhere near as much satisfaction in killing people if you can't relish in their screams. I'm waiting for this place to get more crowded before I start anything. The end result will be more stimulating."

"Aye, spoken like a true madman. I dare say that ye weren't lyin' 'bout who ye are. Imagine, me sittin' here drinkin' with one of the most famous murderer's in Faerun! Talk about me run o' good luck! An' if yer plannin' on causin' a ruckus, then I'll be right here when ye start the bloodshed, an' get me fair share of the killin'. I've been holed up here fer too long now, I ain't had a real fight in days. It be good ta bury me axe into somethin's head, an' watch it die."

"Spoken like a real butcher," Argon told him with that devious smile. In his head, he was feeling better and better. At last, someone who was like him, who wasn't squeamish about murder, someone who reveled in death. He was certainly growing to like Korgan more and more.

"Hey, I gots me an idea," Argon looked around, at Korgan who had a sly grin of his mouth. "Ye seem 'im over there aye?" Following his finger, he saw another man lingering near the wall, his gaze moving back and forth across the crowd. He was young, handsome, wearing a warrior's garb, but didn't look too much like a cutthroat or brigand.

Rather, he had a much more noble presence about him, dignified and fair. He stunk of a knight. Argon hated knights, the pompous goody-two-shoes had attempted to impede his campaigns of slaughter more than once. They were far tougher than the average scum, but far more fun to bring down. And he was bored after all…

"He's been in 'ere fer a couple of hours now, lookin' fer good honest men to join up with. Naturally, he an' I had nothin' to speak about, but I was just thinkin'…if yer bored, 'cause I know I am, he might be a way to have some fun, aye? Ye follow?"

"I do. Perhaps I should go have a talk with him? Why don't you come with me?"

"Aye, that be soundin' right. Ye gonna string him up, or gut him where he stands?" Argon rose from the table, drinking down the rest of his mug.

"You'll see."

He didn't directly approach the young knight, that would have been _too_ obvious. For his little scheme that he had been cooking up required no actual killing, but the end results may yield a reward of great fun and value. After meandering near one of the doors that would lead to the inner workings of the shady Copper Coronet, Argon planned on passing in front of his quarry, not actually making eye contact, and see if the bait was taken. It was. As he passed, the man perked up, and took a cautious step out.

"Stranger," he called, having a bizarre over-the-top sort of accent. "A moment if you would. I am Anomen, warrior priest of Helm, and I have been seeking the company of good and honorable men to join. Unfortunately, this wretched pit of corruption is lacking such noble qualities. You seem to have the air about you of one who is capable of handling himself. Might I inquire your name?"

Argon had been prepared to make small talk, to spin his diabolical web, as he had a tendency to do at certain times, but there was something he hadn't taken into account. In which case, something happened to Argon that hadn't happened since he became the unholy terror that he was. He had actually found something _really_ funny, causing him to laugh. And not just plain chuckling laugher, it was roaring and side-splitting, nearly on the verge of hysteria, pausing where he stood, even leaning on the wall, one hand bracing himself, as he just let it all out.

So loud and forceful it was that a good many stares were directed his way, including the baffled warrior priest, as well as the perplexed dwarf. It was a good long time before Argon finally managed to regain control. Though he hated to acknowledge it, but that gust of laughing had felt good. Marvelous in fact. Not since his days of being a good boy had he had the pleasure of laughing. But all that aside, he found his voice once again, and asked a question, the subject of which had been responsible for that almost grotesque display.

"Tell me something…Where did you get that idiotic accent from? Reading too many romance novels?" That's what it was. That voice was just so crazy, so aristocratic and yet serious, it had been enough to make the stone in Argon crack a bit. Quite a voice. And at his question, it was now Korgan's turn to laugh, doubling up, his beard touching the floor, slapping the huge armored giant on the leg. The knight looked less than pleased at the insult.

"Insolence…to mock someone so openly is a contemptible habit, and I'd be thrashing some manner's into you this very moment, had I not learned to look past such trifle things. So again, I ask for your name? Will you give it, or will you not?" Argon had to exert a tremendous amount of willpower to hold back his snickering. He was tempted to pay this man to read a poster or some other piece of writing, just to listen to him squawk in that whisking voice of his. But, he had more fulfilling matters to attend to. He extended his hand.

"Argon," was his simple answer. Anomen extended his own hand, and met in a handshake, and looked ready to say something else. Then he froze, his eyes giving off that telltale sheen of panic and terror. The look of recognition. Following, his face paled, loosing all color, and there was a noticeable shake in his stance. He looked up into the dark eyes staring back down at him, and realized that his hand was being enveloped. He pulled free, and leapt back a step or two, his other hand clumsily searching for the handle of the mace at his belt.

"You…" he stammered, trying to swallow in order to continue, "You are…the…the…Are you? The one who…"

"I am."

"Villain! Contemptible swine! You openly admit your guilt! The very thought of the possibility of extending friendship to you is…is…You are _fortunate_ I do not have my god smite you here and now for your sinister crimes, vile abomination!" Argon grinned, and glanced back at Korgan, giving his an expression of mock dismay.

"You see this?" he asked lightly, ignoring Anomen's self-righteous bluster, "I am the nice guy and give him my name, and what does he do? He acts hostile. Korgan, does that seem very friendly to you?" The dwarf gave a grin

"Nay, it seem a bit harsh, it ye be askin' me! Have ye no shame, ye gutter-puke? Ye greasy paladin's act so high an' mighty with yer gods, but when it comes to the common man, ye don't got the manners to save yer life! I've skinned men alive fer such things!"

"You speak of villainy dwarf? You are no better! But you truly must be mad indeed to be traveling with one such as _him!_ If you know of his deeds, then you _surely_ know that he is not one to keep companions around him! You would do well to flee from both him, and from me! For now that I've sensed your filthy presence," he turned back to try and stare down the giant, "I _will not_ rest until you are brought to justice for all those you have killed in your beastly unnatural life! This I swear before almighty Helm!"

Argon couldn't have been more pleased. He took a few lumbering steps forward, so that he was right next to the squire. The size difference was incredible, Argon was two spans taller. Not to mention far more muscular and massive. Anomen, despite his defiant face, shrank back, being overpowered by the sheer magnitude of the sinister aura. Argon leaned down, covering Anomen with his own sprawling shadow.

"You're welcome to try little man. And whenever you feel you got the guts…I'll be more than happy to face you. So, if you don't intend to make a move, then I suggest you depart." He pointed towards the opposite end of the building.

"There's the door. See you later Anomen." And with that, Argon pulled back and turned away and went off. Anomen, freed at last, began to slink to the exit. The moment he felt safe, he bolted, nearly knocking the door down as he went. Argon didn't see it, but heard it, and chuckled again. He couldn't have asked for a better ending. Korgan however, was put out to say the least.

"What sort of show be that," he grumpily asked the Bhaalspawn, "Ye didn't even hurt him a tiny bit. I had been thinkin' that ye might at least wallop him across the room. What gives?" Argon had swiped some drunk's beverage during his return to his table and was pouring it down his gullet.

"Hmm, you may have a love of battle Korgan, but it is clear that you were not gifted with the power of foresight."

"An' what do ye mean by that?"

"Simple. Yes, I _could_ have killed him, and that would have been satisfying. But what happened when I gave him my name?"

"Well, besides nearly jumpin' out of his pasty skin, he startin' jabberin' about makin' ye repent fer ye sins, an' all that rubbish. Why, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Think about it. He's not likely to just up and forget this encounter, just because he left. I have no doubt that he's on his way to his headquarters or searching for other paladins to inform them of my presence. I am one of the most wanted men on the Sword Coast after all, with an enormous open bounty on my head. They'll come back. And if they were really serious about trying to kill me, they'd know better than to send a few…They'd _have_ send a large group of paladin's otherwise it would just be suicide. Meaning, by letting that blubbering sissy go, I will draw a far larger crowd of more powerful warriors to me for a real fight. In other words, more paladins blood for me to spill. And perhaps for you to as well, if you're up for it…"

The look in Korgan's eyes spoke for him. He kicked some intoxicated commoner from another table aside, grabbed his ale, and drank it down, belching afterwards. He was grinning, and looked to be on the verge of singing some dwarven battle song.

"By the Wyrm of Avarice, ye are a smart bastard! 'Tis a grand day when me axe gets to bite into the over-cured armor of these oh-so-superior holy warriors! Let us be off, I grow anxious for battle!"

"Take it easy…I'm holing up here tonight. We'll leave tomorrow."

"Ah, before we do anythin', there still be on matter that be botherin' me…Though he was gutless and nay too bright, he _did_ have a point about how ye have had the reputation fer not keepin' company fer very long. Why should I be any different aye?"

"I've been wondering that myself, as a matter of fact. All I know is that the companions that I used to keep were on the side of good. Meaning, when I changed, they became horrified and revolted, and left. No one has dared to join me since. But I've never given any thought to having someone who was not only strong but also as evil as I am, join up with me. It's true that I don't need any help to murder, but it might be interesting…How about it?"

"It be soundin' like a right smart plan to me lad! Let's have another round o' drinks to be celebrating! Bernard, ye stubby ass crack-pot, get me some more ale over here!"


	9. Bringing Down the House

**Chapter 9:** Bringing Down the House

The two murderers drank deep into the night, swapping tales of past deeds, bullying the local dregs, and making spectacles of themselves. After consuming a good amount of booze, they went into the numerous backrooms of the Copper Coronet to observe the numerous forms of "entertainment".

First came gladiator betting, slaves of the establishment were tossed into a ring with substandard equipment, and forced to face off against all sorts of monsters and animals for the amusement of the drunken hollering masses. There was much killing, as more often than not the slave wouldn't survive the fight. Each time a man fell to the claws of his opponent, there would be much cheering and rejoicing.

Then came the dog fights, the canines being half starved and placed into a pit to kill one another. Admist the snarls and howls of pain, Korgan and Argon were right in the middle of everything, as the more the night drew on, the more people came in, the establishment was booming by the early morning.

Naturally, carnage and death aside, Argon wasn't one to miss out on the concept of "company" mentioned earlier either, there being a fully functional brothel which was a good part of the backrooms. There were numerous men with escorts on their arms strolling about the halls, being ushered to private bedrooms for some frivolous intimacy. From behind closed door and the thin walls, one could hear the merriments taking place.

Throughout the course of the night, Argon was shown to at least three separate rooms for the evening, and each time bedding with yet another girl. They weren't stunningly attractive; more of the simple farmgirl prettiness than the dazzling inner beauty, but Argon wasn't too choosey. Most were young but not naive, having been in the business for quite some time. They took Argon in stride, but it could not be denied that their eyes were glazed over and their bodies limp when it was over.

Not only that, be he was able to seduce the brothels owner, Madame Nin, a voluptuous and scantily clad prize herself, and after warming up with the girls, he finished things off with her, staying with her for the rest of the evening. Korgan was elsewhere, though doing what, Argon couldn't say. Maybe he had found a stubby wench who struck his fancy…Or maybe drinking more, which undoubtedly sounded like him.

The morning came slowly, and Argon found himself getting out of bed. He didn't sleep. And not just because of his nighttime exercises. He just didn't sleep that much these days. He didn't seem to need it. Another perk of his Bhaal blood it seemed. Getting out from under the spun gold of Madame Nin's hair, Argon dressed and rearmed himself, before stepping out into the hall.

He found his dwarven friend upstairs as well, stretched across a bed, snoring deeply, snuggling up against, not a naked young woman, but rather a whole barrel of ale which he undoubtedly _confiscated_ from downstairs. With a grin, Argon moseyed downstairs, sat himself down, and ordered some breakfast. The only one awake at the moment was the fat barkeep Bernard.

All around the common room were the remnants of the previous evening's fun. Drunk men, littered the tables, the prostitutes still unclothed and sleeping stretched across the tabletops in undignified positions. All and all there was a piquant smell of blood, sweat, alcohol, and sex in the air. Home of vulgarity and indecency indeed. But who said these people _wanted_ to be decent?

As he ate, Argon began to contemplate matters. Last night, he had extended an invitation to Korgan to join in his frolicsome butchery, but now…thinking hard, he wasn't sure things would pan out quite so nicely.

Argon wasn't sure if Korgan would last too long, especially if life was to continue normally for him. As he often got himself into many bloody situations involving more warriors, beasts, and foes than one man should have any hopes of surviving. He _did_ survive because of his tainted blood, but Korgan wasn't so blessed as he.

Not to mention that Argon didn't know any healing magic, nor have anyone around who was versed in such talents. Of course, it would have been laughable indeed for Argon to have any abilities to heal, him being a skilled taker of life…not preserving it.

On the other hand, during the evening, Korgan had told many tales of his exploits, killing untold amount of men and beasts alike, not differentiating friend from foe, hacking down his own men in his bloodlust. He sounded very able-bodied indeed. In addition, being a dwarf, his resilience was even greater than an average man, far greater, so he was an ideal canadate for being a killer.

Then there was the whole seperate matter of what it might do to his reputation to actually have a companion, even a bloodthirsty and violent one. People might think he was going soft or something…

Before he settled upon a course, things began to grow more interesting. The main door to the establishment opened, and with much clanking and shuffling, in walked a whole battalion of men clad in plate armor. Their faces grim, their swords drawn, and their crest boldly stated their origins. The Most Noble Order and Radiant Heart. Not only that, but with them came several figures clad in heavy robes, mages no doubt. The whole lot of them surveyed the room with a grimace, some shielding their mouths and noses with a hand. Apparently, this sort of revelry wasn't in their taste.

Argon felt him smile widen, and he rose from his spot. _Sooner than expected…_He was sitting in a position where he _could_ see the door, but those by the door _couldn't_ see him. He lifted up, and slipped into the morning shadows. He wanted to watch the unfolding drama unobserved before he did anything. There was much fun to be had, and viewing the spectacle might prove to be entertaining.

The brigade advanced, easily three dozen of them total, casting judgmental expressions throughout the room. But also, their eyes were alert…wary. They were looking for something…Or someone. The knights reached the bar, scanning the room intently.

"Lehtinan!" the one in the lead barked out sternly, banging a mailed hand atop the counter, "We know you're in here somewhere, you spineless reprobate! Get out here _now!_" After a few near viscous moments of silence, the fish-eyed half inebriated owner came staggering out from the kitchen. He was quite unaware that he had women's undergarments wrapped around his neck, acting as a somewhat tasteful neckerchief. The knights gave disapproving looks, their faces clearly disgusted by the crudeness they saw around them.

"It would seem you have yet to pull yourself from the bowels of filth, miserable sinner." Lehtinan gave them a leery eye, and a distasteful smile, wobbling even as he stood.

"Greetings…hurrrmm…to you noble knight. What brings you to…heemm…my door?"

"Cease with the banter, wretched fool. We are not here in this pit of lewdness to suffer your mock pleasantries! We are here under direct orders of our superiors of the Most Noble Order and Radiant Heart, as well as the Council of Six. We have received word that there was a criminal of the highest order here at some point last night. I want to know where he is!"

"Criminal? Well…hurmmm…I wouldn't know much about that. We here don't question a mans…hummm…background here. It's not good for business."

"Is that what you call these squalid corrupt surroundings, treacherous swine? To have such disregards for decency of man and woman alike is appalling! But enough of your stalling…" The knight advanced, and took the much frailer looking man by the front of his sweat soaked shirt. "I want answers! Where is the mass murder Argon the Terrible? He was here last night, and I want to know where he is now! Is he still here, or did he leave? Speak!"

"I'm unsure as to who you mean," Lehtinan mumbled, though it was clear that his answer obviously not satisfactory.

"Don't play coy with me, scoundrel, else we'll have your hide in the lockup before the hour is over! The man is a famous murderer, wanted all across the Sword Coast for acts of butchery and killings of the vilest sort. He _was_ in here, and I know you know who I mean! _Now where is he? Answer!_"

"You guys looking for me?" The whole lot of them turned on their heels. They had been so focused on the ham-handed interrogation of the gutless bar owner, that they never heard Argon slip out a side door, and all but march up behind them. He was across the room, his expression sly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword teasingly, fingers tapping the pommel.

There was some murmuring among the numerous holy warriors, as they glanced at one another, their expressions growing more uneasy. These men were indeed paladins, who fight all manner of evil, but this particular evil that they were facing now was in a class of its own. Evil straight from the gods themselves. Plenty of reason to be apprehensive.

"So," the first knight growled, advancing through the ranks, "We meet at last villain. I had hoped beyond hope that we would never have to face the Terror of the Sword Coast ourselves, and that the gods themselves would strike you down for your wretched crimes. But it seems that duty must be ours. I pray your soul is prepared for the fiery end that awaits you in the Abyss. In the name of all that is good and right, we must destroy you."

"What an ugly thing to say…" Argon answered, "You're here to kill me? How lucky for you. And for me…I was _hoping_ that weedy pompous squire from last night would snitch on me, just to round up some of you guy's. I _love_ it when my little schemes work so perfectly…"

"You mean you intentionally gave away your location?" the leader asked him, looking unconvinced and bewildered. "Why?"

"So I could have the pleasure of slaughtering all those that came after me, storming in with thoughts of vengeance and justice. That's why…" At this, the men crouched, and spread out, shifting among the still unconscious commoners. The wizards lifted their hands, ready to begin casting. They must have taken his words as a hostile act.

"Oh no no no no…" Argon told them with a wicked grin, "We can't have you righteous fellows doing that…Hurting innocent people? For shame…" The warriors looked around, at the whole room of bystanders. In a fight of this caliber, there was sure to be a huge clash, and such a surrounding would cause innumerable casualties.

The leader of the force seemed to be quivering with rage, but he sighed.

"For the sake of honor and the well-being of these civilians, we shall fight outside." Before the contingent could move, Argon was already rushing their way in a ground-shuddering charge, yanking his fearsome flaming blade free as he ran.

"_WE'LL FIGHT NOW!"_ The wizards had been waiting, being of the Cowled Wizards, and the last thing on their minds was the safety of the people around them. They were terrified and had spells ready to fire the moment things turned ugly. So, when Argon stampeded their way, the four wizards, three men and a woman let fly their numerous attacks. Two roaring fireballs, a crackling bolt of lightning, and a shower of glowing missile projectiles.

There was a blast at the point of impact, and the room was engulfed with fire, as the walls and ceiling began to burn. Not to mention the innumerable people still sleeping in the blast radius, being fried instantly, dying in their uncouth sleep.

But even through the flames, Argon kept coming, moving right through them, the missiles and lightning bolt having no effect. He didn't want them all dead just yet. As Argon ripped into him enemies, he only gutted one mage, and delivered a horrendous punch to the face of another, before effectively tearing into the sea of glimmering steel before him.

Their cuirasses may have been metal, but Argon's inhuman strength and his flaming sword made it inconsequential, slicing right through the middle of them. On his first pass, he had dropped six of them and wounded four others. He grinned at their terrified expressions…

And with a deep throated roar that surprised all, Korgan leapt clear off of one of the second floor balconies, swinging on a lantern hanging from the ceiling, and fell atop easily five knights. He was lucky not to have landed on one of their swords, for he wasn't wearing his armor. Must have been too excited for that, as the melee had started so suddenly. All he had on were his basic clothes, his helmet, and clenching both battle axes in hand. The knights were having a hard time rising from the takedown, none having expected a surprise attack from above.

"Aye lad," he hollered over the din, "Remind me ta kick yer teeth in when this be over! Ye were about ta start tha killin' without me!" And with axes in hand, Korgan rushed a small group of paladin's, his blades sinking deep into their less guarded legs and feet, making the larger men double over in pain, leaving their heads exposed for cleaving. With two obvious enemies, the knights were struck with indecision, not sure which one to attack first. Argon took full advantage of this hesitancy.

The giant Bhaalspawn was using both fist and sword to fight his opponents, paying no nevermind to the raging inferno around him. Despite his own magical armor, he could feel their blades strike him, piercing his armor, but to no avail. It seemed as if no one could hurt him. And he kept going, slashing and hacking anything that dared cross his path. Wisely, Korgan was well away from Argon, taking on his own disoriented group across the room. With each hit, there was a satisfying scream, and a blast of blood as another paladin fell.

By this time, the occupants of what used to be the Copper Coronet, what was left of them had risen to the sounds of war, the building around them crumbling to pieces in the fire, and began running in a frenzied panic. In the heat of things, Bhaalspawn, dwarf, and paladin alike couldn't differentiate one person from another, and many screaming bystanders fell in the chaos.

All around them, there were the sounds of battle, the clanging of steel, the screams of the innocent, the splatters of blood, torrents of it staining the floors, the smell of fire…it was beautiful. A perfectly sculpted scenario of pure destruction and death. Bhaal would have surely been proud. Eventually, the combatants had to run, for the building was coming down on top of them. As everyone ran, Argon and Korgan struck at their enemy's backs, bringing more down. It was wholly unclear if any of the Order managed to escape the massacre, or the wizards for that matter.

For it would be hard to tell, as the burnt skeleton of the Copper Coronet buckled under the stress, and fell to the earth in piles of scorched wood and stone. Undoubtedly, there were numerous human bones under the wreckage.

---

---

The remnants of the building were sparing, there were only a few charred walls left standing, the roof having caved in, and the second floor nonexistent. Argon was sitting on the brittle remains of one of the many staircases, letting the morning sun make his skin warm. It was a fine way to start off the day. It was impossible to tell how many people had perished in either the combat or in the raging firestorm, but it must have surely been a large number. That was always a good thing to him.

There was some tramping of footsteps, and from around one of the remaining walls came Korgan, bloodied and a bit crispy. Yet he was still grinning, his armor and equipment resting under one arm, a keg of booze under the other. He was laughing, as he sat down next to Argon.

"Aye," he breathed out, "Now _that_ was somethin' I've been needin' fer a long time…A violent fight like that hasn't been so bloody in a long time…" he lifted the barrel to his mouth swallowing down a good amount. After taking a breath, he slapped Argon on the knee, laughing. "Well lad, I'd say yer plan worked out mighty well…All them bloody paladins, an' a few wizards to boot! A dwarf can't ask fer a better scrap than that! Tis a fine day already with that bloodshed!"

Argon didn't respond but nodded, giving a grin. Their minds regarding murder were quite alike. It was a wonder that Korgan wasn't a Bhaalspawn as well. Korgan took another drink, then scratched his charred beard.

"An' it pains me ta say this," he told Argon, "but we might have ta part ways fer a time lad. Though not by choice I'll tell ye. From what I've seen, yer as good at killin' and causin' havoc as the stories 'bout ye…So much so that I think I've found meself a new hero in life! Har har! But I've got some business I need ta take care off as well, regardin' some of the pus-spewin' maggots that were part of me last party…Don't suppose ye're interested? Plenty of loot ta be had by all!"

"No thanks," Argon rejected, "Treasure isn't really my thing…I kill for the kick of it. And besides…I got a wizard to hunt down, and pay him back by ripping his stomach out. And with the way things are, it might take a while to find him."

"Spellcaster aye? I understand perfectly. I hate them bloody wheedle-wormed pansy-ass freaks as well, and ye got a bone ta pick! Well lad, I'll be off then, but not before I wish ye well on yer endeavor. An' if ye be needin' a keen axe ta cleave some heads, just remember ol' Korgan Bloodaxe…"

"I'll do that." With that, Korgan started off, but stopped suddenly, clapping a hand across his brow.

"Oh damn me careless head, I've almost forgotten. Here lad," Korgan fished out of the debris a still functional flagon, and poured some of his barrel into it, offering it to the giant. "We can't part ways lest we got a drink! One fer the road!" Argon took the cup, and the two drank down the fiery liquor. The dwarf belched, and tossed the empty case aside.

"See ye around laddie!" And off he went, strutting along singing a dwarven song, putting his armor in place as he walked. Argon watched him go. _I must be getting soft,_ he told himself with a smile, thinking back to all the people he had let go in the past few days. It made him chuckle. _But maybe I will see him around. That might not be so bad…_After sitting for a few moments longer amongst the ruins; he pushed himself up, and stretched.

"Alone again…Oh well. I wonder what other…_mischief_ I can cook up…"


End file.
